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THINKING AS A SCIENCE
THINKING
AS A SCIENCE
BY
HENRY HAZLITT
NEW YORK
P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
^Ci*K PUBi,^
Cop3rright, 1916
By E. p. button & COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGB
I The Neglect of Thinking .... 1
II Thinking With Method 11
m A Pew Cautions 61
rv Concentration 68
V Prejudice and Uncertainty .... 99
VI Debate and Conversation .... 129
VII Thinking and Reading 135
VIII Writing One's Thoughts .... 191
IX Things Worth Thinking About . . 207
X Thinking as an Art 237
XI Books on Thinking 248
THINKING AS A SCIENCE
THINKING AS A SCIENCE
THE NEGLECT OF THINKING
EVEEY man knows there are evils in the
world which need setting right. Every
man has pretty definite ideas as to what these
evils are. But to most men one in particular
stands out vividly. To some, in fact, this
stands out with such startling vividness that
they lose sight of other evils, or look upon them
as the natural consequences of their own par-
ticular evil-in-chief.
To the Socialist this evil is the capitalistic
system ; to the prohibitionist it is intemperance ;
to the feminist it is the subjection of women ; to
the clergyman it is the decline of religion; to
Andrew Carnegie it is war ; to the staunch Ee-
publican it is the Democratic Party, and so on,
ad infinitum.
2 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
I, too, have a pet little evil, to which in more
passionate moments I am apt to attribute all the
others. This evil is the neglect of thinking.
And when I say thinking I mean real thinking,
independent thinking, hard thinking.
Ton protest. Ton say men are thinking more
now than they ever were. You bring out the
almanac to prove by statistics that illiteracy
is declining. You point to our magnificent
libraries. You point to the multiplication of
books. You show beyond a doubt that people
are reading more now than ever before in all
history. ...
Very well, exactly. That is just the trouble.
Most people, when confronted with a problem,
immediately acquire an inordinate desire to
** read-up*^ on it. When they get stuck men-
tally, the first thing such people do is to run to
a book. Confess it, have you not often been in
a waiting room or a Pullman, noticed people
all about you reading, and finding yourself with-
out any reading matter, have you not wished
that you had some! — something to ** occupy
your mind''! And did it ever occur to you
that you had within you the power to occupy
THINKINO AS A SOIENOE 3
your mindy and do it more profitably than all
those assiduous readers! Briefly, did it ever
occur to you to think?
Of course you ** thought*' — ^in a sense.
Thinking means a variety of things. You may
have looked out of your train window while
passing a field, and it may have occurred to you
that that field would make an excellent baseball
diamond. Then you *' thought of the time
when you played baseball, ** thought'* of some
particular game perhaps, ** thought" how you
had made a grand stand play or a bad muff,
and how one day it began to rain in the middle
of the game, and the team took refuge in the
carriage shed. Then you 'Hhought'* of other
rainy days rendered particularly vivid for
some reason or other, or perhaps your mind
came back to considering the present weather,
and how long it was going to last. . . . And of
course, in one sense you were * thinking.'* But
when I use the word thinking, I mean thinking
with a purpose, with an end in view, thinking
to solve a problem. I mean the kind of think-
ing that is forced on us when we are decid-
ing on a course to pursue, on a life work to
4 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
take up perhaps ; the kind of thinking that was
forced on ns in our younger days when we had
to find a solution to a problem in mathematics,
or when we tackled psychology in college. I do
not mean ** thinking '* in snatches, or holding
petty opinions on this subject and on that. I
mean thought on significant questions which Ue
outside the bounds of your narrow personal
welfare. This is the kind of thinking which is
now so rare — so sadly needed 1
Of course before this can be revived we must
arouse a desire for it. We must arouse a de-
sire for thinking for its own sake ; solving prob-
lems for the mere sake of solving problems.
But a mere desire for thinking, praiseworthy
as it is, is not enough. We must know how to
think, and to that end we must search for those
rules and methods of procedure which will
most help us in thinking creatively, originally,
and not least of all surely, correctly.
When they think at all, the last thing men
think about is their own thoughts. Every sen-
sible man realizes that the perfection of a me-
chanical instrument depends to some extent
upon the perfection of the tools with which it
THINKINO A8 A SCIENCE 5
is made. No carpenter would expect a per-
fectly smooth board after using a dented or
chipped plane. No gasolene engine manufac-
turer would expect to produce a good motor un-
less he had the best lathes obtainable to help
him turn out his product No watchmaker
would expect to construct a perfectly accurate
timepiece unless he had the most delicate and
accurate tools to turn out the cogs and screws.
Before any specialist produces an instrument he
thinks of the tools with which he is to produce
it. But men reflect continually on the most
complex problems — ^problems of vital impor-
tance to them — ^and expect to obtain satisfac-
tory solutions, without once giving a thought to
the manner in which they go about obtaining
those solutions ; without a thought to their own
mind, the tool which produces those solutions.
Surely this deserves at least some systematic
consideratioiL
Some remarks of Ella Wheeler Wilcox under
this head will bear quoting : * * Human thinking
is still in as great a state of disorder and jum-
ble as language was before the alphabet, music
before the scale was discovered, printing be-
6 THINEINO AS A SCIENOE
fore Gutenberg, or mathematics before Pythag-
oras formulated its laws. ' ' * ' This systematiza-
tion of all thought,** she teUs us, would be **a
more far reaching improvement than all the
others, for it will do for education, health,
economics, government, etc., what the alpha-
bet did for language, movable type for print-
ing and literature, the scale for music, and
the rules of arithmetic for calculation. Being
the exact counterpart of these in its particular
field, its mission, like theirs, will be to bring
order out of chaos. * *
I believe Miss Wilcox exaggerates matters.
Incidentally I for one do not pretend to have
discovered anything revolutionary. But the im-
portance of the subject warrants its formula-
tion into as near scientific form as we can
bring it.
I beg no one to get frightened. Science does
not necessarily mean test tubes and telescopes.
I mean science in its broadest sense; and in
this sense it means nothing more than organ-
ized knowledge. If we are to find rules and
methods of procedure, these methods must
come from somewhere — ^must be based on cer-
THINKmO A8 A SCIENCE 7
tain principles — ^and these principles can come
only from close, systematic investigation.
It may indeed be urged that we can think
best by disregarding all ** rules, '* by not pay-
ing any attention to method. But the man who
maintains this must give reasons ; and once he
attempts this he himself is bordering closely on
the science of the matter. In short, the settle-
ment of even this question is part of the science
of thinking.
And what is to be the nature of this sci-
ence?
For our purposes, all sciences may be di-
vided into two kinds: positive and normative.
A positive science investigates the nature of
things as they are. It deals simply with mat-
ters of fact. Such a science is physics, chem-
istry, psychology. A normative science is one
which studies things as they ought to be. As
the name implies, it seeks to establish a norm
or pattern which ought to be adhered to. It
studies means of reaching desired ends. To
this class belong such sciences as ethics, educa-
tion, agriculture.
Now these normative sciences, with the ex-
8 THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
ception of ethics, are nearly always referred to
either as **arts** or ** applied sciences/^ To
both of these terms I technically but strenu-
ously object. I object to the term **art^' to
designate any set of organized rules for doing
a thing, because ''art" also means the actual
doing of that thing. And this thing may be
done, and often is done, in total ignorance of
the rules governing it. A man may possess the
art of swimming — ^he may be able to swim —
without any previous instruction, without any
knowledge of how he ought to hold his body,
arms and legs ; just as a dog may do the same
thing.
I object also to the term ** applied science,''
because to me this term implies that the science
it refers to is based on one positive science only.
I can think of no so-called applied science which
is so based. Hygiene, not alone dependent on
physiology, must derive some of its rules from
the chemistry of foods, as well as from the sci-
ences of sanitation and ventilation, themselves
normative. Agriculture is based not only on
biology and botany, but on chemistry and me-
teorology.
THINKINO A8 A 80IEN0E 9
The science of thinkiiig, then, if such a sci-
ence there be, is normative. Its purpose is to
find those methods which will help us to think
constructively and correctly.
One more distinction and our preliminaries
are over. There are two other sciences with
which the science of thinking is liable to be-
come confused; one positive, the other norma-
tive.
The positive science is that brandi of psychol-
ogy which deals with the reasoning process and
examines the basis of belief. We shall make
frequent use of this science in trying to find
rules for thinking, but it will not be the only
science we shall use, nor will that science be the
subject of this book.
The normative science with which the sci-
ence of thinking may become confused is logic.
Indeed, logic has sometimes been called the sci-
ence of thinking. Now for our purposes logic
is a part of the science of thinking, but it is not
the part which we are primarily to consider.
Its function is merely negative; it consists in
leading us from error. The part of the science
of thinking in which we are interested deals
10 THINEINO AS A SCIENOE
with those positive rules which will help to make
us creative thinkers. . . .
Our ship is headed for the port Truth. Our
mind is the engine, the science of thinking the
propeller, and logic the rudder. Without our
engine, the mind, the propeller of the science
of thinking, which transforms our mental energy
most effectively into motion, would be useless.
Without the propeller, which gives motion, the
rudder of logic would be useless. But all three
are needed to reach our goal.
And now I must bespeak a little patience.
The next chapter, and the one following it, are
going to deal very largely with method and
methods. They will touch on classification, and
a lot of other things to which the plain man has
an aversion; to which, at least, he usually
evinces no very active interest. But it is nec-
essary to consider these things in order to mate
our study complete.
n
THINKING WITH METHOD
MOST of us, at those rare intervals when
we think at all, do so in a slipshod sort
of way. If we come across a mental difficulty
we try to get rid of it in almost any kind of
hit or miss manner. Even those few of us who
think occasionally for the mere sake of think-
ing, generally do so without regard for method
— ^indeed, are often unconscious that method
could be applied to our thought. But what is
meant by method! I may best explain by an
example.
From somewhere or other, a man gets hold of
the idea that the proper subjects are not be-
ing taught in our schools and colleges. He
asks himself what the proper subjects would be.
He considers how useless his knowledge of
Greek and Latin has been. He decides that
these two subjects should be eliminated. Then
11
12 THINKmO AS A SCIENCE
he thinks how he would have been helped in busi-
ness by a knowledge of bookkeeping, and he con-
cludes that this subject deserves a place in the
curriculum. He has recently received a letter
from a college friend containing some errors in
spelling. He is convinced that this branch of
knowledge is being left in undeserved neglect.
Or he is impressed by the spread of unsound
theories of money among the poorer classes, and
he believes that everybody should receive a
thorough course in economics and finance. And
so he rambles on, now on this subject, now on
that.
Compare this haphazard, aimless thinking
with that of the man of method. This man is
confronted with the same general situation as
our first thinker, but he makes his problem a
different one. He first asks himself what end
he has in view. He discovers that he is pri-
marily trying to find out not so much — ^what
subjects should be taught in the schools? as —
what knowledge is of most worth! He puts the
problem definitely before himself in this latter
form. He then sees that the problem — ^what
knowledge is of most worth?, implies that what
THINKINO A8 A 80IEN0E 13
is desired is not to find what subjects are of
worth and what are not, but what is the rela-
tive value of subjects. His next step, obvi-
ously, is to discover a standard by which the
relative value of subjects can be determined;
and this, let us say, he finds in the help a knowl-
edge of these subjects gives to complete liv-
ing. Having decided this, he next classifies in
the order of their importance the activities
which constitute human life, and follows this
by classifying subjects as they prepare for these
activities.*
Needless to say, the results obtained by this
thinker wiU be infinitely. more satisfactory than
those arrived at by his unsystematic brother.
Method, then,, is essential. But how are we to
apply it in all cases?
Now there are methods without number, and
in many cases a problem will require a method
all its own ; but we here purpose to take up only
those most general in application.
Before considering these methods of think-
ing, however, it would be well to ask ourselves
what thinking is. As stated before, the term is
iSee Herbert Spencer, Education.
14 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
loosely used to cover a wide range of mental
processes. These processes we may roughly di-
vide into memory, imagination and reasoning.
It is the last only with which we have to deal
I admit that development of the memory is de-
sirable. I admit that development of the imag-
ination is equally desirable. But they are not
the subject of this book. By ** thinking' ' I
mean reasoning. And our present purpose is
to find the nature of this process.
Modem psychologists tell us that all reason-
ing begins in perplexity, hesitation, doubt.
**The process of reasoning is one of problem
solving. . . . The occasion for the reasoning is
always a thwarted purpose. ' ' ^
It is essential we keep this in mind. It dif-
fers from the jwpular conception even more
than may appear at first sight. If a man were
to know everything he could not think. Noth-
ing would ever puzzle him, his purposes would
never be thwarted, he would never experience
perplexity or doubt, he would have no problems.
If we are to conceive of God as an AU-Knower,
we cannot conceive of Him as a Thinking Be-
sPillsbury, Esaentiiils of Psychology.
THINKINO A8 A SCIENCE 15
ing. Thinking is reserved for beings of finite
intelligence.
Were we to study the origin and evolution
of thinking, we would doubtless find that think-
ing arose in just this way — ^from thwarted pur-
poses. If our lives and the lives of our animal
ancestors had always run smoothly, if our every
desire were immediately satisfied, if we never
met an obstacle in anything we tried to do,
thinking would never have appeared on this
planet. But adversity forced us to it.
Tickle a frog's left leg, and his right leg will
immediately fly up and scratch it. The action
is merely what psychologists would call a ** re-
flex. ' ' Absolutely no thinking takes place : the
frog would do the same thing if you removed
its brain- And if you tickle its right leg its
left leg would fly up to scratch. But if you
tickled both legs at once they could not both fly
up and scratch each other. It would be a phys-
ical impossibility. Here, then, is a diflBculty.
The frog hesitates; thinking steps upon the
scene. After mature deliberation the frog
solves his problem: he holds his left leg still
while he scratches it with his right, then he
16 THINKINO A8 A 80IEN0E
holds his right leg still and scratches that with
his left.
We cannot, then, think on ** general princi-
ples/ ' To try this is like attempting to chew
laughing gas. To think at all requires a pur-
pose, no matter how vague. The best thinking,
however, requires a definite purpose, and the
more definite this purpose the more definite will
be our thinking. Therefore in taking up any
special line of thought, we must first find just
what our end or purpose is, and thus get clearly
in mind what our problems are.
Advising a man to ask himself what his prob-
lems are may seem absurd. But it is just this
confusion as to what they want to know
which has driven men into error time and time
again. The history of the never-ending philo-
sophical controversy between ** materialism*'
and ** idealism '* is largely a history of differ-
ent ways of stating the issue ; the progress made
is mainly due to the increasing definiteness with
which it has been stated.
One of the most frequent sources of confu-
sion in stating questions is in failure to distin-
guish between what is and what ought to be.
THINKINO A8 A 80IEN0E 17
Considering woman suffrage a man will ask
himself "What is woman's sphere!/' when he
really wants to know not what woman's sphere
actually is, but what it ought to be. Our first
step, then, is to get our problem or problems
dearly in mind, and to state them as definitely
as possible. A problem property stated is a
problem partly solved.
What we will do next depends on the nature
of the question. In the example **What knowl-
edge is of most worth T ' we proceeded to look
for a criterion of worthiness. And this was
really a re-stating of the questioiL For instead
of asking ourselves ***What knowledge is of
most worth?," we began asking **What knowl-
edge best prepares for complete living f"
Our next move was to classify. This is es-
sential not only to systematic reasoning but to
thinking of any kind. Classification is the
process of grouping objects according to com-
mon qualities. But as almost all objects differ
in some qualities and almost all have some
qualities in common, it follows that, contrary to
common belief, there is no one classification ab-
solutely essential to any group of objects. An
18 THINKINO A8 A SCIENCE
infinite number of classifications may be made,
because every object has an infinite number of
attributes, depending on the aspect we take of
it. Nor is any one aspect of a thing ** truer*'
than any other. The aspect we take depends
entirely on the purpose we have in mind or the
problem we wish to solve. As William James
pointed out :
*^Now that I am writing it is essential that
I conceive my paper as a surface for inscrip-
tion. If I failed to do that I should have to
stop my work. But if I wished to light a fire
and no other materials were by, the essential
way of conceiving the paper would be as com-
bustible material; and I need then have no
thought of any of its other destinations. It is
really all that it is: a combustible, a writing
surface, a thin thing, a hydrocarbonaceous
thing, a thing eight inches one way and ten an-
other, a thing just one furlong east of a certain
stone in my neighbor's field, an American thing,
etc., etc., ad i/nfinitum/^ ^
And if the reader insist that these qualities
are merely ** accidental, * ' and that what the
^Principlea of Psychology, Vol. II, p. 332.
THINKINa AS A SOIENOE 19
thing really is, is just paper and nothing else,
the reply is that the reader is intellectually pet-
rified; that though ** paper** may be our com-
monest title for it and may suggest our usual
purpose with it, yet that purpose and this title
and the properties which this title suggest have
in reality nothing sacramental about them.
So because you have classified something
from one aspect do not imagine that you are
necessarily precluded from classifying it from
any other. A man who is studying the theory
of money may divide the medium of exchange
into standard money and credit currency. But
this need not keep him from viewing it as coins,
government notes, and bank currency, nor
should it prevent him from classifying it into,
say (1) Jiand-to-hand money, (2) written or
printed orders of one party to pay specified
sums to another, and (3) book accounts.* All
these classifications will be true ; all may be use-
ful for a full comprehension. Every classifica-
tion should of course be logical; but it is far
more essential that it be utilizable.
And while we are treating of utility, we
'ASee William A. Scott, Money.
20 THZNEINa AS A 8CIEN0E
might note that this pragmatic method can be
applied with profit to nearly all our positive
problems. Before starting to solve a question
— ^while deciding, for instance, on the validity
of some nice distinction in logic — ^we should ask
ourselves, **What practical difference will it
make if I hold one opinion or the other! How
will my belief influence my action f — (using
the word * * action ' * in its broadest sense) . This
may often lead our line of inquiry into more
fruitful channels, keep us from making fine but
needless distinctions, help us to word our ques-
tion more relevantly, and lead us to make dis-
tinctions where we really need them.
We are now ready to consider in order a num-
ber of constructive methods in thinking.
One method applicable to almost all problems
is what we may call either the dedtictive or the
a priori method. This method reaches a con-
clusion without observation or experiment. It
consists in reasoning from previous e^erience
or from established principle s to partic ular
■ * ■ "■
facts. It may, however, be used to confirm ob-
servation and experiment as well as to take
their place. Take the all important questions in
THDIKINa AS A SCIENCE 21
i
biology of whether or not specific characteris-
tics acquired by an animal during its life time
are inherited by offspring. The a priori
method would examine the structures of the
body, the germ plasm from which the offspring
develops, and the relation between them, and
would ask just how a specific change in the body
could affect the germ. If it were found that the
tissues that are to continue the race were set
off so completely from the structures of the
body as to make inconceivable any manner by
which they could be influenced by changes in
these structures, then this method would decide
that acquired characteristics are not trans-
mitted.
Let us take another example. Both the sup-
porters and opponents of woman suffrage have
often decided the question without consulting
at all the actual results achieved in the States
where women vote. They have settled the ques-
tion to their own satisfaction merely on a priori
grounds. They have considered woman's sup-
posed mental qualities as compared with man's,
and have decided on her fitness for the ballot
solely from these considerations. It must be
22 THINEINa AS A SOIENOE
remembered, however, that before women were
admitted to suffrage anywhere, deductive or a
priori reasoning was the only kind possible.
It is often helpful to look at a problem from
the viewpoint of different sciences. A problem
in political science will very likely have an eco-
nomic aspect, whether it concerns taxation,
tariff, trusts or the ownership of land, and so
we may look at the question solely from the
viewpoint of economics. But the problem may
also have an ethical aspect. If it is proposed
to pass a universal prohibition law, you may
ask, *^Has the Government the right to inter-
fere in this way with personal liberty T'
Again, we could take a psychological view:
we would decide from our knowledge of human
nature just what the effect of an alcohol pro-
hibition law would be — ^whether it would not
drive men to even more dangerous drugs, such
as morphine and opium.
And now we come to a whole host of effective
methods, all of which may be classed as com-
parative. The comparative method is as old as
thought itself, but it is strange that even sci-
entists did not begin to use it consciously and
THINEINa AS A SOIENOE 23
consistently until almost the present generation.
Nowhere is it better illustrated than in mod-
ern psychology. Most of the so-called branches
of psychology are merely different forms of
the comparative method of treatment. *' Ab-
normal psychology'^ is merely a comparison of
abnormal mental types with normal mental
types for the light they throw on each other.
*' Child study*' is a comparison of the mind
of the child with that of the adult. ** Animal
psychology'' is a comparison of the actions of
animals with each other and with those of man.
And none of these methods is of any value ex-
cept in so far as it makes use of comparison.
Often consciously used in the consideration
of problems is the so-called historical method.
This method, as its name implies, consists in
obtaining knowledge of a thing by considering
its past record. The word history is i)opularly
used in so narrow a sense, however, being re-
stricted only to the history of nations, and
often merely to the political history of nations,
that we can avoid confusion by calling this
method the evolutionary. In the final analysis
the method is* comparative, for it really con-
24 THINKINa AS A 8CIEN0E
eists in comparing a thing at one period of de-
velopment with itself at another period.
Let ns take onr example from political sci-
ence. The historical method, in its popular
sense, has been so much used here, even to the
exclusion of other methods, that it would seem
needless to speak of it. But often the method
has been abused and often it has not been given
broad enough treatment. It traces the growth
of an institution, or of an idea — ^personal
liberty, say, — ^through successive periods. It
notes what the path has been, and judges of the
probable future tendency. But a far broader
outlook than we get from this narrowly con-
ceived **historicaP* method is furnished by evo-
lutionary sociology. Here we inquire into the
origin of society and of the various trades, in-
dustries, professions and pursuits of all kinds,
and to do this we go far into prehistoric times.
Nowhere is the evolutionary method more
strikingly seen than in biology. Since Dar-
win's great theory was promulgated the science
has gone forward by leaps and bounds. We
have derived untold benefit from a comparison
of man and animals in the light of this hypoth-
THINEINa AS A SCIENOE 25
esis ; even study of the development of individ-
ual man has been aided. The discovery of the
fact of evolution constituted an incalculable ad-
vance, but the method for study which it fur-
nished was of even greater importance.
I have spoken of the comparison of man and
animals *4n the light of this (evolutionary)
hypothesis.** This brings us to a point which
must be kept in mind in practically all observa-
tion. We are often exhorted to ** observe.**
Presumably we are to do this * * on general prin-
ciples.'* Such advice is about as foolish as
asking us to think on general principles. Imag-
ine for the moment what would happen if you
started right now to * ' observe * * as much as you
could. You might begin with this book and no-
tice the size of the type, the amount of mar-
gin, the quality of the paper, the dimensions of
tie page, the number of pages. But you have
by no means exhausted the number of proper-
ties possessed by this book. You must observe
that it is also combustible, that it is destructi-
ble, that it is machine made, that it is Amer-
ican printed, that it is such and such a price,
that it weighs so many ounces, that it is flat.
26 THINEINa AS A SOIENOE
that it is rectangular, that its thickness is so
much. . . •
The absurdity is obvious. If we started out
merely to observe, with no definite purpose in
mind, we could keep it up forever. And get
nowhere. Nine out of every ten observations
would never be put to use. We would be sin-
fully wasting our time. To observe most profit-
ably, just as to think most profitably, we must
have a definite purpose. This purpose must be
to test the truth of a supposition. A concrete
example will make this clear.
A man has been shipwrecked on an island and
believes himself to be alone there. One day,
as he is walking along the beach, he discovers
footprints. How did they get there? His
first assumption is that they are his own. It
occurs to him, however, that he had not been
near this spot for over a week, and that yester-
day's storm would have washed any footprints
away. This objection is confirmed by making a
footprint himself and comparing it with the
one observed, and noticing that they differ
markedly. The footprints being those of some
one else, how did the man who made them get
THINEINa AS A SOIENOE 27
there ? The first supposition is that he came in
a boat. The idea of a small boat is dismissed
because of the assumed great distance of this
island from other land. Therefore the man
must have come in a large vessel. But the
footprints lead to a wet part of the sand and
the tide is just going down. In this case they
are very recent — ^made not more than a half
hour ago. This being so the man who made
them could not have had time to get back to
any ship and sail out of sight. If he came in
a ship it should be still in view. The discov-
erer of the footprints climbs a tree from which
he can view the sea around the entire island.
He can sight no vessel. The supposition or
hypothesis that the unknown came in a ship is
abaadoned. Then the suggestion comes that the
unknown has been on the island during the en-
tire time that the shipwrecked man thought him-
self alone. This suggestion is tested in a man-
ner similar to the others. . . .
The example sums up roughly the general
process of all thought, and brings out the mo-
tive and value of observation. Let us analyze
it.
28 THINKINa AS A SOIENOE
The first thing to happen is the arousal of
a feeling of perplexity, the appearance of a
problem. The man has been shambling along,
doubtless ** thinking" in that loose sense re-
ferred to* He has perhaps kicked several
stones loose that would have set a geologist
worrying, and has picked braaches from bushes
which would have puzzled a botanist. But this
man has not had his curiosity aroused until he
has come to these footprints. His thinking
starts with his perplexity. After this doubt
has been aroused the most obvious solution sug-
gests itself — ^**my own footprints." But if
true, this suggestion involves the co-existence
of other facts, some of which are known and
some of which may be determined. Thus, if
they were his own footprints, it must, among
other things, necessarily follow (1) that he had
been at that spot before, (2) that nothing had
happened since that time to remove the prints,
(3) that the footprints corresponded to his
own. The first consequence involved — ^that he
had been there before — ^was a fact, but the
others were not, and so the suggestion was
dropped. Then a second hypothesis occurred
THINEINa AS A SOIENOE 29
— ^**the man came in a ship*' — and this was
tried out in a similar way. Notice that in each
case the consequences dependent on the truth
of the suggestion are tried out (1) by memory,
(2) by observation or experiment. Memory
came when he thought of the last time he had
walked near the beach and of yesterday's storm.
Observation came when he compared his foot-
print with the one seen, when he followed the
footprints along the sand and noticed where
they led, when he climbed a tree and looked for
a ship. There were a number of other things
which he could have observed. He might have
noticed the texture of the sand, what kind of a
tree he was climbing, what sort of clouds were
in the sky. But he did not observe these inter-
esting things simply because they would throw
no light on the truth or falsity of his supposi-
tion. In another problem one of these facts
might have been of value.
It is almost possible to sum up the whole
process of thinking as the occurrence of sugges-
tions for the solution of diflSculties and the test-
ing out of those suggestions. The suggestions
or suppositions are tested by observation.
30 THINKINa AS A SOIENOE
memory, experiment. Supposition and obser-
vation alternate. The first facts observed — ^in
the case foregoing, the footprints — ^make the
problem, they suggest the supposition. A sup-
position is that the man came in a boat- //
the man came in a boat such and such would
be the case — ^the boat would still be visible, etc.
If the boat is not visible the supposition is given
up and another one made ; if the boat is visible
the supposition is confirmed. This is a case of
simple and rudimentary thinking, but it illus-
trates roughly the process of thought on even
the most complicated problems of science. The
methods we have been discussing may all be
considered simply as means for helping good
suggestions occur to us.
Let us illustrate by considering a few
methods of rather restricted application. We
are often aided in the solution of a problem by
asking its opposite. If we ask ourselves
'*What constitutes gracefulness f we may find
ourselves at a loss for suggestions, because
gracefulness always seems '*so natural.'' But
if we ask its opposite, **What constitutes awk-
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 31
wardnessf," suggestions are more apt to oc-
cur. If we find, for instance, that awkward-
ness consists in undue bodily effort in making
a movement, we may assume that gracefulness
consists in ease of movement. In the same way
the question of what makes us forget may be
helped by asking ourselves what makes us re-
member, and light may be thrown on the causes
of success in business and in life by a study of
the causes of failure.
The method of analogy likewise encourages
suggestions. Analogy consists in noting cer-
tain likenesses between things, and assuming
that they also possess other common qualities.
Striking use of analogy is made in dealing with
the planet Mars. At each pole there are
great white patches. The size of these varies
markedly with the seasons, which suggests that
like the earth, Mars has great areas of ice and
snow at its two poles which melt and re-form.
The general surface is reddish, but three-
eighths of it is covered by blue-green tracts,
and these are usually inferred to be seas.
These again are connected by an intricate sys-
32 THINKlNa AS A SCIENCE
tern of blue-green lines, which some scientists
believe to be canals, but on this there is much
controversy. In Mars we have at once an illus-
tration of the possibilities and dangers of
analogy.
In the whole discussion of constructive
method thus far, I have left out the two most
common and useful methods of all. The first of
these we may designate by a somewhat formid-
able title: empiricarl observation. Empirical,
at least for our present purposes, means merely
that which comes within experience. But the
term is generally opposed to scientific. Thus
Dewey gives an example: **A says, *It will
probably rain to-morrow.* B asks, ^Why do
you think soV And A replies, * Because the sky
was lowering at sunset.* When B asks, *What
has that to do with it! * A responds, *I do not
know, but it generally does rain after such a
sunset.* He does not perceive any connection
between the appearance of the sky and the com-
ing rain; he is not aware of any continuity in
the facts themselves — ^any law or principle, as
we usually say. He simply, from frequently
recurring conjunction of the events, has asso-
THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E 33
ciated them so that when he sees one he thinks
of the other. **«^
This, however, is not what I mean to imply
by the term empirical observation. I mean
rather thinking on the basis merely of facts
which occur in the natural course of events,
which have not been systematically produced by
ourselves or others for the purpose of solving
a problem. Logicians usually call this method
simply observation, and oppose it to experi-
ment. But I object to calling this simply ob-
servation because experiment itself is realty ob-
servation, only in one case we observe merely
events which happen to occur, and in the other
we observe the results of events which we have
made occur. The true way of distinguishing
these two methods would be to call one em-
pirical observation, and the other experimental
observation.
This empirical method — ^if indeed I am jus-
tified in calling it a method — ^is the most com-
mon in all thinking. To give examples of it
would be to show how men generally think.
But the method has real value, and may even
BHoM? We Think,
34 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
be the most important of all, for if we thought
without it our ideas would doubtless be orig-
inal, but very dangerous. Let us apply it to
some of the problems considered undeir other
methods.
Empirical observation is used where experi-
ment is impossible — often, unfortunately, where
experiment is merely inconvenient. In political
science the empirical method would consist in
noting the effect of certain laws, — e. g., tariffs
of different countries and of the same country
at different periods — and noting economic con-
ditions at the time the different tariffs were in
effect. Allowance would be made for other fac-
tors which could influence the country's eco-
nomic condition and the effect of the tariff could
then be determined.
The empirical method of dealing with mete-
orology, the science of weather, would con-
sist in making a study of cloud formations,
wind velocity, moisture in the air, temperature,
etc., and noting what conditions usually or per-
haps invariably followed certain of these condi-
tions. From this, conclusions could be drawn
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 35
as to what weather to expect following certain
conditions.
But valuable as empirical observation is, and
often as we must use it, it should never be em-
ployed when we can experiment. When the em-
pirical method is rightly used allowance always
has to be made for certain irrelevant factors.
But ** making allowances*^ is always sheer
guess work. The experimental method consists
not in making allowances for certain factors,
but in eliminating those factors. In our ex-
ample from political science experiment is prac-
tically impossible, because the factors which
may influence economic conditions are innumer-
able, and even were they few, no country could
survive the dangers of being experimented upon
— ^to say nothing of its permitting it. Experi-
ment is similarly impossible in dealing with
weather conditions directly. It is impossible in
astronomy.
But it could be applied quite easily to most
questions. Suppose you wanted to determine
beyond question which of two methods of teach-
ing a given subject was the better. We shall
36 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
assume for the moment that you have unlim-
ited time and money to experiment. It may be
thought that we could settle this simply by
teaching one person according to one method
and another person according to the other, and
that we could determine the relative merits of
each method from the progress made by each
pupiL This, however, would be practically of
no use whatever. One pupil might be naturally
brighter than the other, and so would naturally
learn quicker, even were he taught by an in-
ferior method.
To make the experiment of any use we
should first take two groups of pupils — the
larger the better. For it is obvious that if we
taie a great number of pupils and place them
in two groups the differences between the indi-
viduals will tend to offset one another. Let
us say the subject is one in which the progress
can be quantitatively measured, say typewrit-
ing, and let us suppose there are fifty pupils
in each group. If after a given time all the pu-
pils in one group had attained a greater speed
with accuracy than all the pupils in the other,
the test would be almost unquestionable. This
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 37
would be even more conclusive if the groups
were reasonably well balanced. For if all of
one group were men and all of the other were
boys, the men might make more rapid progress
than the boys even with a less efficient system.
But it should be easy to divide classes and
groups so as to have a reasonable balance of
intelligence between them. The probable re-
sult of any experiment would be that in neither
class would all the pupils make more progress
than all the pupils of the other, though you
might find that the preponderating majority in
one class improved faster than those in the
other, and this would probably be sufficient to
indicate the superiority of one method, even
though one or two pupils in the second group
progressed faster than one or twa in the first.
I say ** probably^' because there are still
many irrelevant factors which might influence
the result. For instance, if you had a different
teacher for each group, one group might make
greater progress not because of the method
but because of the teacher. This means either
that one teacher should teach both groups, or
that we should multiply the number of groups
38 THINKING AS A SCIENCE
and the number of teachers, and have half the
teachers teaching half the groups by one
method, and the other half teaching by the other
method. Of course here too the more we could
multiply the number the better it would be.
Even then there might be some reasonable ques-
tion as to the validity of the experiment, for
it might be that one method would tend to en-
courage faster progress at the beginning, but
that the other would lead to greater progress in
the long run. This could be determined only
by carrying our experiment over a long period.
And we might still have irrelevant factors, for
the machines on which one group learnt to type-
write might be superior to those on which the
other group learnt, and this factor would have
to be eliminated in a similar way to the others.
The experimental method has been well
summed up by Thomson and Tait in their Nat-
ural Philosophy:
*'In all cases when a particular agent or
cause is to be studied, experiments should be
arranged in such a way as to lead if possible
to results depending on it alone ; or, if this can-
not be done, they should be arranged so as to
TUUIKiNO AS A SCIENOE 39
increase the effects due to the cause to be studied
till these so far exceed the unavoidable con-
comitants, that the latter may be considered as
only dirt^rbmg, not essentJly modifying the
effects of the principal agent.**
In all experiments one must exercise ingenuity
in finding other causes besides the one to be
studied which may possibly influence a result,
and in eliminating these. It might benefit the
reader considerably if he were to think out for
himself how he would apply experiment in its
most thoroughgoing form to solve a given ques-
tion, say the inheritance of acquired character-
istics.
I have now cited enough methods to at least
indicate what ** thinking with method** means.
To satisfy a certain human craving all of these
have been named, though sometimes arbitrarily.
Of course each may have to be modified to some
extent to adjust it to different problems. I
must repeat: there are methods numberless,
and some problems will require methods all
their own.
But what is important is that every problem
40 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
should be dealt with by as many methods as pos-
sible. Doubtless you have used, at some time
or other in the course of your thinking, nearly
every one of the methods I have so far sug-
gested. But the point is not that you have
never used these metiiods at all, but that you
have not used them often enough. You were
unaware what method you were using. Conse-
quently you used it only occasionally. You
used it only when you stumbled on it acci-
dentally. To formulate methods is to bring
them to your attention, so that you may use
theni always, thoroughly, correctly, consist-
ently.
We have treated political science from most
angles. We have applied more than one
method to several other problems. To still
further clarify, exemplify and impress this
point, I shall show the application of method to
one more subject.
Suppose you wanted to invent a system of
shorthand, and wanted to make it as perfect as
possible. How would you go about it!
Your first step should be to restate your ques-
tion most advantageously. You want to create
THINEmO AS A SCIENCE 41
certain characters or symbols, which will (1)
take the shortest time to write, (2) will be easily
recognized by yourself or others, even if writ-
ten carelessly, and (3) which will not be so
numerous or so complex as to be difficult to
learn. You may decide that such symbols
would have even further requirements. Next
you should decide on the methods to use in at-
tacking your problem — this in order not to for-
get any. Now assume you have decided on
these methods and that the first is the a priori.
Your conclusion might be that it would be im-
possible to have a different symbol for every
word, and that it is necessary to have some sort
of alphabet. Should this alphabet be based on
that used in longhand? That is, should merely
a simpler symbol stand in place of each letter!
Or should a different symbol represent each
sound? Or would it be possible to have a dif-
ferent elementary symbol for each syllable?
Having decided the basis for your symbols or
characters, you will know at least approxi-
mately the number required. Your problem
will then become that of making the characters
as simple as possible, so that they may be writ-
42 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
ten most quickly ; and yet as different from each
other as possible so that if written carelessly
(as they will be when written swiftly), they may
be easily recognized. You might try writing
down all the simplest symbols you can think of.
Or you might ask yourself whether there is any
fundamental geometrical figure from which you
can derive your symbols. Or you might study
the simplest and easiest movements of the hand,
and base your characters on these.
This a priori method is most apt of all to pro-
voke real thinking. It should therefore be taken
up before any of the others. Not only is it best
for making you think deeply, but it will be more
likely than any of the others to make you think
originally. However, whether attended by
great or little success, this method should be
followed by others.
Not the least fruitful of these would be the
evolutionary. This, of course, would consist
in studying the history of shorthand, finding out
the direction in which it has been tending, and
thus anticipating in some degree its future de-
velopment. As this method is comparative we
would naturally be led from it to comparing the
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 43
shorthand systems of -to-day, and assaying the
good and bad qualities of each. These could
only be assayed if we knew something of short-
hand theory, and thus our experience with the
deductive or a priori method would be of
service.
Implied in here is a method of different na-
ture than any we have yet discussed, but one of
immense help. In turning from the deductive
method to a study of shorthand systems which
others have developed, you have an opportunity
to compare the results of your own thinking
with those obtained by others. If you have
failed to solve the question in as good a manner
as these others, you can ask yourself wherein
and why your own reflections and ingenuity fell
short. If you follow this method with all prob-
lems — i.e., thinking a thing out for yourself be-
fore looking up what others have thought — ^you
will soon improve your thinking surprisingly.
The method is capable of application in every
problem, from inventing an adding machine to
trying to find how the plumber got that $3.46
on the bill.
But to return to shorthand. We still have
44 THINKINO AS A SOIENCE
the empirical and experimental methods. In
this particular case the difference between them
would be simply one of degree. We could find,
for instance, what systems were used by the
fastest shorthand writers; but we could get
nothing conclusive from this, for we would have
to make allowance for the natural ability and
length of training of these writers. From
merely looking at two outlines or characters, it
is often diflSicult to tell which can be written
faster. This could only be tested by writing
hundreds in a row and finding the time it took
to write the same number of each. Of course
such experiment is capable of indefinite expan-
sion.
In dealing with method heretofore, I have at
times come dangerously near to making a false
assumption. I have been talking as if a man
who took up political science, shorthand, or any
other subject, were dealing with only one prob-
lem. As a matter of fact he is dealing with a
whole series of problems. Just how many it is
difficult to say, because no problem worthy of
the name is an indivisible unit, and may always
be broken into smaller problems. The whole
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 45
science of aesthetics is included in the simple
question *'What is beauty f, the science of
ethics is merely the answer to *'What is right
conduct?^', and metaphysics may be reduced to
the problem **What is reality f But when we
come to deal with any of these we instinctively
break them up into smaller and more concrete
problems, making the treatment easier, just as a
general attempts to split his enemy's forces, so
that he can annihilate one section at a time.
Often, indeed, the very division of the larger
problem into smaller problems constitutes its
solution, for we finally come to a problem which
practically answers itself, and which we recog-
nize as being included in, or a particular form
of, some more general problem to which we al-
ready know the answer.
A man sets before himself the question,
**What is the proper sphere of Government T'
.Perhaps he will first of all consider certain dif-
ferent specific activities which might possibly
be supposed to come within the sphere of gov-
ernmental interference. He might ask himself,
for instance, * * Should the Government interfere
with freedom of contract?'' Notice that he has
46 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
here temporarily made his problem narrower,
he has chosen to break it up in order to deal
with it part by part. But even when he came
to cope with this smaller problem he would
probably find it necessary to break this up, and
he would therefore take a specific example.
Suppose a man works for so much an hour, and
that nine hours * work a day gives him the mini-
mum amount on which he can live and support
his family. Would it be wise to limit the legal
working day of such a man to eight hours?
This problem practically answers itself, and so
further division is unnecessary. Of course the
answer to this does not determine the answer
to the original question, for other parts still re-
main to be considered.
In fact, much of the success of our thinking
will depend upon just how we divide our big
problems into subsidiary problems, and just
what our subsidiary or subordinate problems
are. This will depend to some extent on our
own natural sagacity, and to some extent on
mere chance. No rigid rules can be laid down.
The only advice which can be offered is that
when a thinker breaks up a problem he should
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 47
do so with an eye to utility and definite-
ness.
John Stuart Mill, in an essay on Jeremy
Bentham, pointed out that the secret of the lat-
ter *s strength and originality of thought lay in
his method, which **may be shortly described as
the method of detail ; of treating wholes by sep-
arating them into their parts, abstractions by
resolving them into things, — classes and gen-
eralities by distinguishing them into the indi-
viduals of which they are made up ; and break-
ing every question into pieces before attempting
to solve it/* The method was not absolutely
original with Bentham, but ** whatever original-
ity there was in the method, in the subjects he
applied it to, and in the rigidity with which he
adhered to it, there was the greatest. * *
The systematic thinker is careful of the man-
ner in which he marshals his diflSculties. He
knows that certain problems should properly
be considered before certain others, and he
saves himself labor and sometimes error by
considering them in that order. Before asking
himself how Government should cure a given
social evil, he first asks whether it is the duty
48 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
or even the right of the State to attend to that
particular evil at all. In other words, before
asking what the State should do in any particu-
lar case, he considers first what the proper
sphere of government is. It must be admitted
that a previous question often cannot be dis-
covered until one has actually attempted the
solution of a problem. In the foregoing in-
stance, it would be difficult to determine the
proper sphere of government by any other
method than a consideration of particular cases
where government interference suggests itself.
In fact, it is only by deep reflection on a sub-
ject that we come to realize most of the prob-
lems involved. You walk along the road with
your friend the botanist and he stops to pick
what looks to you to be a common wild flower.
**Hm,'' he muses, **I wonder how that got in
this part of the country?'* Now that is no
problem to you, simply because you do not hap-
pen to know why that particular flower should
not be there — and what men do not know about
they take for granted. Knowledge furnishes
problems, and the discovery of problems itself
constitutes an intellectual advance.
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 49
Whenever you are thrashing out a subject,
write down every problem, diflSculty and objec-
tion that occurs to you. When you get what
you consider a satisfactory solution, see
whether or not it answers all of them.
I have stated that method is essential to good
thinking. I have given rules and examples of
methodic thinMng. But I do not want to create
a false impression. If a man has not within
him the materials of a thinker, no amount of
method can make him one. Half the thinking
process, as pointed out, depends on the occur-
rence of suggestions. The occurrence of sug-
gestions depends on how ideas are associated in
a man^s mind. While this depends to some ex-
tent on the education and the whole past life and
environment of the individual, it depends far
more on inborn mental qualities. All method
can do is to awaken the most fruitful associa-
tions of ideas already in mind. Hence the more
methods we adopt — ^the greater the number of
views we take of any problem — ^the more solu-
tions will suggest themselves.
There is one further reason why we should
take as many different viewpoints as possible.
50 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
In our example of the inheritance of acquired
characteristics in animals, if we had been sure
that the results of our deductive reasoning were
correct, it would have been a sinful waste of
time to experiment. But when we attack a
problem by several methods we can compare the
results from each. If these results agree we
have good evidence that our solution is correct.
But if we have adopted quite a number of view-
points, and have not let the results of one in-
fluence those of the next, they are almost certain
to be at variance. This means that we have
erred in applying one or several methods. How
are we to find which of the methods it was, and
how are we to prevent such errors ?
This is the subject of our next chapter.
in
A FEW CAUTIONS
THUS far we have considered only positive
and constructive thinking, and means for
obtaining relevant suggestions. We have had
almost nothing to do with cautions, means for
avoiding fallacy and error, and means for test-
ing the truth and value of suggestions. Most
writers who have discussed thinking have dwelt
so much on the negative aspect — so much on
what we should not do — and have so slighted the
question of what we should do, that I have per-
haps been led to adopt this order, more from a
feeling of revolt than because it is logically bet-
ter. But I believe I have logic on my side.
Constructive methods make thinking '*go'^;
cautions steer it in the right path. An automo-
bile without a steering gear is almost as useless
as one without a motor. But an automobile
can go without being steered, whereas it cannot
be steered unless it is going.
61
52 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
But whUe with automobiles we can clearly
divide moving from steering, we cannot do this
with thinking. The two processes are so inex-
tricably bound up, that we cannot engage in one
without engaging in the other; we cannot even
speak of one without implying the other, I
have divided them for convenience of exposi-
tion. But in the last chapter we were forced
to deal slightly with cautions, and here we shall
have to consider constructive methods to some
extent.
A case in point is classification. In taking
this up from a constructive standpoint, I re-
marked that all classifications ought to be logi-
cal. But I did not say what I meant by logical,
nor did I tell how a logical classification could
be secured. The two most prominent errors
made in classifying are (1) not making classifi-
cations mutually exclusive, (2) not making them
cover all the objects or phenomena supposed to
be classified.
The first error is the less common, for though
occurring among all thinkers, it is compara-
tively infrequent among those who proceed with
caution. It is, moreover, more easily discov-
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 53
ered than the second. Consider the classifica-
tion of constructive methods into comparison,
observation, and experiment. It is apparent
that these methods overlap. We cannot com-
pare without observing, much of our observation
involves comparison, when we experiment we
must of course observe the results obtained, and
the results are usually always compared. All
three methods could be classed under observa-
tion. It is well to remember, however, that the
first classification may be useful — even more so
than one strictly logical, and that the nature of
a subject will often make impracticable, divis-
ions which do not overlap in some degree.
The second error — that of not making a classi-
fication cover fill the objects or phenomena
it is supposed to cover — ^is not so easy to detect.
It is one to which the greatest philosopher^ have
been heir. Some of our Socialist friends say
there are but two kinds of people: capitalists
and laborers, ' ' the people who Uve on others and
the people who are lived on.'* They overlook
that class of farmers who own a little piece of
land and do their own tilling. Even if they in-
sist that such a class **is rapidly becoming ex-
54 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
tinct/' the fact remains that it is still with us
and must be taken into account.
All classifications are made with a certain
number of facts in mind, and fortunate is he
who happens to have just the right facts. We
cannot hold many facts in mind at once, and we
often generalize upon thousands of things by
taking a supposedly representative dozen. To
avoid error all we can do is to keep constantly
on the lookout for examples, especially those
which apparently will not fit into our generaliza-
tion. If they go in without straining anything,
our classification receives added warrant. But
sometimes you will find that where you have
three classes a new fact will necessitate a fourth,
and that often it will overturn your whole beau-
tiful structure.
There is another phase of thinking, which
while chiefly cautionary, is also in part construc-
tive. We have so often been warned to * ' avoid
the treachery of words'' and to ** define all our
terms ' ' that a repetition of the advice seems un-
necessary. But we cannot overlook the excel-
lent counsel of Blaise Pascal. He urges that
we not only define our terms, but that whenever
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 55
w e use them we ment ally substitute the defini-
tion. However, this needs to be qualified. If
every time we used a term we stopped to sub-
stitute its defijiition, our thought might be
exact but would hardly move forward very rap-
idly. It will usually be sufficient simply to sub-
stitute the definition a few times, for after doing
this we shall gradually come to know exactly
what we mean by a term, and further substitu-
tion would merely waste time. Of course, all
this need be applied only to terms new, technical
or equivocal ; or those used in a mooted proposi-
tion.
I have spoken of analogy as a constructive
method. This, however, should be used only
for suggestion, for it is most dangerous. Often
we use an analogy and are quite unaware of it.
Thus many social and political thinkers have
called society an ^^ organism," and have pro-
ceeded to deal with it as if it were a large ani-
mal They have thought not in terms of the
actual phenomena under consideration, but in
terms of the analogy. In so far as the terms
of the analogy were more concrete than those
of the phenomena, their thinking has been made
56 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
easier. But no analogy will ever hold good
throughout, and consequently these thinkers
have often fallen into error.
The quickest way to detect error in analogy
is to carry it out as far as it will go — and fur-
ther. Every analogy will break down some-
where. Any analogy if carried out far enough
becomes absurd. We are most likely to err
when we carry an analogy too far, but not to
the point where the absurdity is apparent.
Take the analogy employed in our first chapter,
comparing thinking and a ship. For the sake
of the image I shall make this a motor-boat.
We might carry this out further. We might
compare the effect on the mind of books and
experience to the fuel used for the engine. The
brain, transforming outward experience into
thought, might be paralleled with a carburetor
transforming fuel into usable form. An idea
may be compared to a spark. AU this is very
fascinatiQg. It may even lead to suggestions
of real value. But it is bound soon or late to
develop into the ludicrous. The analogy in
question, however, does not need to be developed
to be confuted. For unless a boat has a pro-
TBXSKnta AS A SCIENCE 57
pelle* and a rudder, its engine is useless. A
mind is capable of attaining truth without even
being aware of the existence of a science of
thinking or of logic.
Another way to find whether an analogy is
fallacious is to see whether you can discover a
counter analogy. Surely this is the most effec-
tive practice in refuting analogy in argument
This suggests the case of the man who had a
ticket from New York to Chicago, and tried to
use it from Chicago to New York. The railroad
refused to accept it, whereupon the man brought
suit. The lawyer for the defendant, in the heat
of the debate, said, **Why, a man might just as
well pay for a barrel of i)otatoes and then de-
mand a barrel of apples 1 * ' Whereupon the at-
torney for the plaintiff replied, **It would be
rather like a grocer selling a man a barrel of
potatoes and then trying to compel him, to eat
them from the top down, refusing to allow him to
turn the barrel upside down and begin eatiug
them from the bottom up.'^ It is best to avoid
analogy except for purposes of suggestion, or
as a rhetorical device for explaining an idea al-
ready arrived at by other means.
58 TBINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
I have been forced to defend my advice to
take as many viewpoints as possible, by point-
ing out that the conclusions obtained from these
viewpoints might disagree ; in fact would be al-
most sure to disagree. Of course, this disagree-
ment might be avoided if we allowed the con-
clusions reached by one method or viewpoint to
influence our conclusions in another. But if we
do this we give our problem more shallow treat-
ment, and we are not so sure of a result when
we get it. When a mathematician adds a
column of figures from the top down, he confirms
by re-adding from the bottom up. He knows
that if he added in the same manner the second
time he would be liable to fall into the same er-
rors. And in thinking, when we leave one
method and take up another, we should try to
forget entirely the first conclusion and begin on
the problem as if we had never taken it up be-
fore. After we have taken up aU the applicable
methods, then, and then only, should we begin
to compare conclusions.
Time forbids doing this with all problems.
Time forbids even attacking all problems from
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 59
different points of view. But there are some
problems where this unquestionably ought to be
done. The problem of whether or not charao-
teristics acquired during the life time of one
individual may be inherited by his offspring, if
dealt with at all, is too important to be left to
the a priori method alone. This problem asks
whether the children of educated parents will
necessarily be innately superior to the children
of uneducated parents ; it asks whether the man
of today is superior to the ancient Greek, or
even the present day savage ; or, assuming that
the negro race is inferior to the white race, it
asks whether generations of education will
bring it to the white race level or leave it un-
changed ; it asks whether the hope of improving
the human race lies in education or eugenics.
No question can be more important than this in
its practical bearings. The answer to it will
profoundly influence our opinions in education,
psychology, ethics, economics, political science
—even philosophy and metaphysics. The an-
swer we obtain to this question from deductive
reasoning, no matter how unanswerable or con-
60 THIMKmO AS A 80IEN0E
elusive it may seem, shoiild be checked up by
nothing short of the most thoroughgoing ex-
periment
Unfortmiately the experiments needed for
this particular question cannot be carried on by
the layman« It is equally to be regretted that
scientists have been none too thorough in carry-
ing them out themselves. But we should re-
member that any result we arrive at should be
subject to revision, and that if we take up this
problem at all, we should at least make it our
duty to read about and criticise all the experi-
ments that come to our notice.
A question has perhaps just occurred to the
reader. If the deductive method is to be
checked up by experiinen.t, and the results of
the experiment are always to be taken, why not
experiment first, and omit theory altogether?
Leaving aside the fact that theory is the best
guide for experiment — ^that were it not for
theory and the problems and hypotheses that
come out of it, we would not know the points we
wanted to verify, and hence would experiment
aimlessly — a more serious objection is that ex-
periment is seldom if ever perfect, for it nearly
THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E 61
always involves some unverified assumption. I
have referred to empirical observation and ex-
periment as two different methods. But the
difference is mainly, if not solely, one of degree.
If we experimented to find out whether ac-
quired characteristics were inherited, it is ob-
vious that our experiments would have to be con-
fined to animals. If we found, let us say, that
no acquired characteristic was ever transmitted
to offspring, we could not say that this would
be equally true of man, but would be justified in
concluding only that the acquired characteris-
tics of animals are not transmitted to descend-
ants. Nay, we could not go even this far. We
would have to confine ourselves to the statement
that certain acquired characteristics of the few
score animals we had experimented upon were
not transmissible. But even this statement
would involve assumption. We could say only
that certain acquired characteristics of the few
score animals we had experimented upon had
not been transmitted in these particular in-
stances. We would have to limit ourselves to a
bare statement of fact; we could draw no con-
clusion whatever. But if we had attacked this
62 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
problem from the deductive standpoint, and had
concluded that owing to certain conditions hold-
ing alike in aU animals and in man, acquired
characteristics cotUd not possibly be trans-
mitted, we would have sufficient ground for de-
riving from our experiments a broad generaliza-
tion.
Experiment and deduction are not the only-
methods which can be checked up against each
other. We can do likewise with the compara-
tive and the experimental, the historical and the
theoretical — ^in fact, all viewpoints applicable
to any one problem.
When you encounter a question about which
there is a controversy, and where the adherents
of both sides nearly equal each other in number
and intellectual status, you may be almost cer-
tain that each side has caught sight of some
truth, but that neither has seen the whole truth ;
and you should endeavor to unite both sides by
a broader and deeper solution. A dassic philo-
sophical example of this method is Herbert
Spencer *s attempt to reconcile science and re-
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 63
ligion, and his effort to unite the ^ ^ntnitionaP '
and *' experiential" schools of thought. The
intuitionists maintained that the mind had from
birth intuitions by which it knew certain truths
independently of experience. Such truths as
the axiom that a straighjt line is the shortest dis-
tance between two points, or that it is morally
wrong to do certain acts, were regarded as
among these intuitions. The ** empiricists ' * or
*' sensationalists," on the other hand, maintained
that all our knowledge — even of such a fact, for
instance, as that two and two are four, where
we cannot conceive otherwise — ^is learned solely
from the individual's experience, taken in its
broadest sense. Herbert Spencer thought he
recognized some truth in both these doctrines,
and came forward with the theory that there
are certain truths which are intuitions so far as
the individual is concerned, but that these in-
tuitions have been inherited from our ancestors,
were originally built up through the ages, and
represent the accumulated experience of the
race. Whatever may be thought of Spencer's
success in this case, the value of the method it-
64 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
self is undoubted. It was frequently used by
Kant, Hegely Fichte and other GFerman philoso-
phers.
I have remarked that it is almost possible to
sum up the entire process of thinking as the oc-
currence of suggestions for the solution of diffi-
culties and the testing out of those suggestions.
The constructive methods discussed were called
means for making good suggestions occur to us.
From this standpobit the cautions with which
we have just been dealiug may be considered as
tests of suggestions..
Let us refer back to the analysis of thinking
given in the case of the man who discovered
footprints on the beach. Even there, in order
to give any adequate idea of his thought process,
I was obliged to show that for various reasons
he rejected certain suggested solutions. But
this negative method could be more fully de-
veloped. Because the man rejected a certain
solution, it does not follow that it was neces-
sarily wrong. Suppose the final suggestion —
that the unknown had been on the island all the
titae — ^were to have been tested out, and that cer-
tain further facts were discovered which tended
THINBINa AS A 80IEN0E 65
to disprove it ; the man might find it necessary
to look for still another solution. But suppose
this were not forthcoming, suppose that all the
possibilities had been exhausted. It would be
necessary to return to some of the original
suggestions. He would have to see whether an
error had been made in testing them. In re-
jecting the suggestion of a small boat he may
have overestimated the distance of this island
from other land. He may have underestimated
the difficulties that a man in a small boat is
capable of surmounting. In rejecting the sup-
position of a ship, he may have erred in his
judgment of the time the footprints had been on
the beach) or of the time it would take a large
vessel to get out of sight.
What is essential is that all suggestions be
tested out, either by memory, observation or
experiment, in all their implications, and that
the tendency be resisted to accept the first solu-
tion that suggests itself. For the uncritical
thinker wiU always jump at the first suggestion,
unless an objection actually forces itself into
view. Eemaining in a state of doubt is un-
pleasant. The longer the doubt remains the
66 THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E
more uupleasant it becomes. But the man who
is willing to accept this unpleasantness, the
man who is willing carefully to observe, or ex-
periment if need be, to test the validity of his
suggestions, will finally arrive at a solution
much deeper, and one which will give him far
more satisfaction, than the superficial answer
obtained by the man of careless habits of
thought.
Thomas A, Edison says he always rejects an
easy solution of any problem and looks for
something difficult. But the inventor has one
great advantage over any other kind of thinker.
He can test his conclusion in a tangible way.
If his device works, his thinking was right; if
his device doesn^t work, his thinking was wrong.
But the philosopher, the scientist, the social re-
former, has no such satisfactory test His
only satisfaction is the feeling that his results
harmonize with all his experience. The more
critical he has been in arriving at those results,
the more deep and permanent will be that feel-
ing, the more valuable will be his thoughts to
himself and to the world. . . .
Even in the first chapter I intimated that logic
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 67
would constitute a part of the science of think-
ing. I intimated) moreover, that it would coli-
stitute almost the whole of what may be called
the negative side of thinking — ^those rules which
serve to steer thought aright Though cau-
tionary, the advice given in this chapter is not
usually given in books on logic. But though I
cannot overemphasize the importance of a
knowledge of logic, I cannot deal with it here.
The science can receive justice only in a book
devoted entirely to it.
If he has not already done so the would-be
thinker should study a work on logic, for unless
the present book is supplemented by some
treatise on that science it cannot be regarded as
complete.
In order not to confuse the reader I shall rec-
ommend only one book. In order to encourage
him I shall recommend a small book, one not
so deep as to be incomprehensible or repulsive
to the beginner, but at the same time one which
is recognized as a standard treatise: — Elemenr-
tary Lessons in Logic, by Stanley Jevons.
IV
CONCENTEATION
What is the hardest task in the world! To thinlC
— Emebson.
WE have been dealing with the subject of
thinking. We have considered it from
both a positive and negative side. Bnt while
we have devoted our attention to thinking, we
have neglected the thinker. In more scientific
terms, we have treated thought from the logical
side; we are now to treat it from the psycho-
logical.
Few people will admit specific faults in them-
selves of any kind, especially if these happen
to be inteUectuaL But almost any man is will-
ing to confess that he cannot always ** concen-
trate*' when he wants to, in fact, that he is one
of the countless victims of **mind wandering.''
Most of us imagine we know just what we
mean by both these terms. But if we are to
68
THINKPra AS A SOIENGE 69
judge by most of what has been written, no two
terms are more misconceived. Before trying to
find the best means of concentrating, we must
first find just what we mean by concentration*
In a previous chapter I said that suggestions
for solutions ** occurred/^ I did not say how
or why. To discover this we must refer to the
famous psychological principle of association.
Any train of thought is made possible by
previous connections of ideas in our minds.
While a girl sits at her window a parade passes
along a nearby street. The band is playing, and
ere the tune is completed the band has gone so
far that the music is no longer audible. But
the tun^ stiU goes along in her mind, and she
completes it herself. It suggests a dance she
had been to where it was played, and this sug-
gests that she danced the two-step to it. The
two-step suggests the more modem one-step,
and this leads her to compare the familiar danc-
ing of to-day with the distant and respectful
minuet.
This is an example of a random train of ideas.
It is that loose ** thinking'' referred to in our
first chapter. But even this is made possible
70 THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E
only by the connection of ideas in our mind at
some previous period. No thought can enter
our minds unless it is associateim-jai^ae^ way
with ffie" previous thought. Psychologists have
traditionally classified associations into four
kinds t association by succession, by contiguity,
by similarity and by contrast. The example
just given involves all four. Association by
succession means that when two ideas or im-
pressions of objects have entered the mind in
succession, the second is likely to be suggested
whenever the first is thought of. A tune con-
sists in a succession of notes, and when the first
notes are brought to mind, as by a passing
band, the rest will follow — sometimes in spite of
ourselves. Association by Contiguity means
that when two objects or ideas have been iil con-
sciousness together, one is always likely to Sug-
gest the other thereafter. This was the case
with the music and the dance, or the music and
the two-step. Association by similarity occurs
when two ideas resemble each other in some par-
ticular. They need not have occurred together
at any past time, nor after each other. The
fact that they have a common element suffices to
THINEINa AS A SOIENOE 71
bring up one idea when the other is in mind:
thus the two-step suggested the one-step. As-
sociation by contrast needs no explanation* It
is exemplified when the idea of present-day
dancing brings up the idea of distant danc-
ing.
Any attempt to show why the mind acts in
this way, any explanation of the way in which
the different kinds of association are made pos-
sible, would bring us into physiological psychol-
ogy, would involve a study of the brain oad the
nervous system. For our purposes it is suffi-
cient to keep in mind that such associations do
take place. Without them no idea can occur.
Without them thought is impossible.
The bearing of all this on concentration has
yet to be made plain. We must remember that
every idea has more than one associate ; in fact
that each idea generally has a cluster of pos-
sible associates. Instead of suggesting the
minuet, the one-step may have made the fox trot
or the three-step occur to the young lady. It
may have made her think of a young man with
whom she danced it, or the trouble she had in
learning it. Each of these suggestions, in turn,
72 THZNEma A8 A 80IENOE
would also have potential connections with a
cluster of ideas. When we are thinking at ran-
dom — ^when we are day dreaming, as in the ex-
ample given — ^the strongest association, or the
first to be aroused, is the one we dwell upon.
But when we are thinking with a purpose, in a
word, when we are reasoning, we reject all as-
sodations which have no bearing on our pur-
pose, and select only those which serve it.
Concentration does not, as popularly sup-
posed, mean keeping the mind fastened on one
object or idea or in one place. It consists in
having a problem or purpose constantly before
one. It means keeping our thought moving
toward one desired end.
Concentration is often regarded as intense
or focused attention. But the fact is that all
attention is focused attention. Psychologists
are fairly well agreed that we can attend to only
one thing at a time. Mind wandering, and so-
called distributed attention, is really attention
directed first to one thing, then to another, then
to another ; or first to one thing, then to another,
and then back again to the original object, rest-
ing but a few moments on each idea.
THINKINa A8 A SCIENCE 73
Concentration may best be defined as pro-
longed or sustained attention. It means keep-
ing the mind on one subject 6r problem for a
relatively long period, or at least continually
reverting to some problem whenever one^s
thoughts momentarily leave it.
Having decided just what we mean by con-
centration, our next step is to inquire whether
concentration is worth while. The reader may
smile at this question or he may be shocked,
according to his temperament. But if most
men were so convinced that concentration is
such an imquestionable virtue, they would prac-
tice it a little more. At least they would make
greater efforts to practice it than they do at
present.
The truth is that concentration, per se^ is of
little value. The value of concentration de-
pends almost entirely on the subject concen-
trated on. Almost any one will agree that even
were a man to allow his mind to dwell now on
one important problem and now on another,
without stopping a very appreciable time at any,
he might nevertheless be improving his time far
more than a man who concentrated continually
74 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
on some insignificant and inconsequential ques-
tion.
But of course this is not really an argument
against concentration. It has no application
when you concentrate on the proper subject
For if you start to concentrate on some question
which you have decided is really important, you
should keep at it, allowing no deviation. It
may be that during the course of your thought
associations will be aroused which will suggest
or bear upon important problems, problems
more important perhaps than the one you orig-
inally started to concentrate on. But if you
immediately abandoned every problem you
started to think of, whenever you came across
one which you imagined was just as important,
you would probably never really solve any big
question.
Our attention is guided by interest. If a man
merely allows his thoughts to flow at random,
thinking only of those things which spon-
taneously arouse his interest, he may or may
not attend to things worth thinking about. All
will depend upon the path in which his natural
interests run. But the point is that if the sub-
THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E 75
ject he thinks about is valuable, it will be so only
by accident ; whether or not his thinking is use-
ful will depend upon mere chance. If however
he consciously chooses a subject — chooses it be-
cause he believes it to be important — then his
thinking will be worth while.
But there is another reason why concentra-
tion is necessary. Suppose a man started to
put up a barbed wire fence, got as far as driv-
ing in all the posts, then lost interest in the
fences and decided to grow potatoes in his field,
plowed up the ground, lost interest in the field
and neglected to plant the seeds; decided to
paint his house, got the porch done, lost in-
terest . . . That man might work as hard as
any other man, but he would never get any-
thing done. So with the mind wanderer and
the concentrator* The mind wanderer thinks
of a problem, loses interest, and abandons it.
The concentrator sticks to it until it is solved.
Much of our mind wandering is due to the fact
tkat we are not fully convinced of the im-
portance of the problem being attacked, or that
we regard other problems or ideas as more im-
portant. Concentration consists in devoting
76 THINKINa A8 A 80IEN0E
one 's mind to the solution of one problem. Dur-
ing our train of thought associations bring up
new ideas or suggest problems which do not
bear on the question at hand. Now when we
wander, when we follow up these irrelevant ideas
or suggested problems, or when we happen to
glance at something or hear something and be-
gin to think of that, we do so because of a half-
conscious belief that the new idea, problem or
fact needs attending to, is important. I have
already pointed out that if this new idea is im-
portant it will be so only by accident. If we
were consciously to ask ourselves whether any
of these irrelevant problems were as important
as the one we were concentrating on, or even
important at all, we would find, nine times out
of ten, that they were not.
Therefore before beginning to concentrate
you should assure yourself that the problem you
are about to attack is one worth solving, or at
least devoting a certain time to. And during
that time you should think only of that problem,
and unhesitatingly throw out all irrelevant sug-
gestions coming either from your course of
thought or from external sights and sounds.
THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E 77
One qualificjation is necessary. Sometimes
an irrelevant suggestion occurs which is never-
theless really important and worth developing.
As this might be forgotten, and as it might
never occur again, it would be poor counsel in-
deed to ask that it be thrown aside forever.
The best move in such a case would be to make |
written note of the suggestion or problem, so
that it could be referred to at some future time.
Having written the idea, you will have it off
your mind, and will be able to continue your line
of thought without perturbation.
It has been suggested that a great aid to con-
centration is writing one's thoughts. It must
be admitted that this certainly helps one to keep
much closer to a subject. Ordinarily we wan-
der without being aware of it, and bring our
minds back to ^ subject only after sudden inter-
mittent realizations that we have gone astray.
When we write our thoughts, however, we
doubly secure ourselves against mind wander-
ing. All writing requires a certain effort, and
this alone is sufficient to keep most of us from
writing irrelevant thoughts, or anything not
directly bearing upon the subject in hand.
1
78 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
When we write, too, we capture our thoughts in
tangible symbols ; we make them less elusive
than in their original form. Finally, we keep
our entire past train of thought in view. like
an oarsman, who cannot look ahead, but guides
himself by the objects he is constantly leaving
further behind, we keep to our original course
of thought by a survey of the ideas already writ-
ten.
In spite of these great advantages, writing
has certain serious handicaps as a practical
method for concentrating. First among these
is its slowness. Thoughts flash through our
minds much faster than we can write them.
We either lose many ideas by the wayside, or
fail to go as far in our subject as we otherwise
would. Another disadvantage is that we are
forced to give part of our attention to the
physical act of writing, and thus cannot concen-
trate entirely on our subject.
There are two methods of writing compara-
tively free of at least one of these handicaps.
Both shorthand and typewriting, if mastered to
any degree, are much faster than ordinary
writing. This is especially true, of course, of
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 79
shorthand. But even with a good stenographer
shorthand has serious defects. Unless one is
quite expert it requires even more attention than
longhand, and at that is often unable to keep
pace with thought. Typewriting requires al-
most no attention from a touch operator, but it
too is open to the charge of slowness, coming
in this respect about midway between short and
longhand.
But to those so unfortunate as not to know
either shorthand or typewriting the necessity
for still another method is evident. Indeed,
even those acquainted with these two arts can-
not always use them. If every time we were
to think we had to have with us a typewriter,
or even a pencil and note-book, we would not
engage in any too much reflection.
Fortunately there is one method superior to
any yet named, which requires no study before
its application, and no paraphernalia during it.
It consists in simply talking your thoughts as
you think them. One who has not tried this can
have no idea of its effect. It possesses almost
all the advantages of writing. You cannot
wander without realizing the fact immediately.
80 THINEINa AS A SCIENCE
It makes your thinking much less vague than
if you thought silently, increases your vocabu-
lary, always keeps pace with your ideas, and re-
quires practically no attention.
It may be objected that silent thinking itself
is put in unspoken words. But this is not true.
Part of silent thinking consists of unspoken
words, but part of it consists of images, con-
cepts and attitudes which pass through our
minds and which we do not take the trouble to
name. In silent thinking, too, there are also
what appear to be occasional dead stops. All
these processes drift into each other indefinably
and are unrecognizable. When we talk we
realize whether our images or concepts are
vague or definite by our ability to name them,
and we realize when our thought comes to a
*^ dead stop*' by the fact that we miss the sound
of our own voice.
Another practice can be used with talking.
The degree of concentration we give to any sub-
ject depends upon the degree of natural interest
we take in it. Mind wandering comes because
we are also interested in other subjects. No
matter how slight our interest in a thing, we
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 81
would always concentrate on it if we were in-
terested in nothing else. To secure sustained
attention, then, we should (1) stimulate or in-
crease interest in problems we want to concen-
trate on, (2) decrease or remove temporarily
any interest in the things we do not want to
think about. Men often complain that noises
distract their attention. While not impossible,
it is inconvenient and unpleasant to shut off our
ears. But men are far more distracted by
sights than they are by sounds. And they
never think of merely shutting their eyes. The
next time you attempt to concentrate — silently
or by talking — ^try shutting your eyes and see
whether or not you are helped.
Talking has one disadvantage — ^it cannot al-
ways be used. To practice it, you must either
lock yourself up in your room, or sit alone in
a forest or field, or walk along unfrequented
streets and by-ways. You can by no means
allow any one to hear or see you talking to your-
self. If you are caught doing this some asinine
idiot is sure to mistake you for one.
We are brought back again, then, to the neces-
sity of occasionally thinking in silence. There
82 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
is one other reason why we shall sometimes
need to do this. Thoughts of certain kinds are
so elusive that to attempt to articulate them
is to scare them away, as a fish is scared by the
slightest ripple. When these thoughts are in
embryo, even the infinitesimal attention re-
quired for talking cannot be spared. But later,
as they take more definite and coherent form,
they can and should be put into words, for oth-
erwise they will be incommunicable and useless.
No definite rule can be laid down, however, as
to what should be spoken and what thought of
silently. This depends to a large extent upon
the individual thinker. Some will probably
find that talking helps them in almost all their
thinking, others that it is often an actual
hindrance. The same is true of closing one^s
eyes. If you do not know which is better for
you, find out by experiment.
At those times when you suddenly catch your-
self wandering, it would be a good plan to stop
occasionally and trace back your train of
thought to the point where it left its original
direction. In this way you would get some val-
uable insight into the how and why of mind
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 83
wandering ; you would be helped in recognizing
its appearance sooner the next time it occurred.
Whenever a person is left alone for a short
time, with no one to talk to and no ** reading
matter'*; when for instance, he is standing at
a station waiting for his train, or sitting at a
restaurant table waiting for his order, or hang-
ing on a subway strap when he has forgotten
to buy a newspaper, his * * thoughts ' ' tend to run
along the tracks they have habitually taken. If
a young man usually allows a popular tune to
float through his head, that will be most likely
to happen; if he usually thinks of that young
lady, he wiU most likely think of her then ; if he
has often imagined himself as some great po-
litical orator making a speech amid the plaudits
of the multitude, he is likely to see a mental pic-
ture of himself swinging his arms, waving flags
and gulping water.
The only way a man can put a stop to such
pleasant but uneducative roamings, is to snap
off his train of day dreaming the first moment
he becomes aware of it, and to address his mind
to some useful serious subject. His thoughts
will be almost sure to leak away again. They
84 THINEINa AS A SCIENCE
may do this as often as fifteen times in half an
hour. But the second he becomes aware of it
he should dam up the stream and send his
thoughts along the channel he has laid out for
them. If he has never done this he will find
the effort great. But if he merely resolves now
that the next time his mind wanders he will stop
it in this manner, his resolve will tend to make
itself felt. If he succeeds in following this
practice once it wiU be much easier a second
time. Every time he does this it will become
increasingly easy, until he will have arrived at
the point where his control over his thoughts
will be almost absolute. Not only will it be in-
creasingly easy for him to turn his mind to se-
rious subjects. It will become constantly more
pleasurable. Frivolous and petty trains of
thought will become more and more intolerable.
This whole idea of forcing our thought has
been questioned by no less a thinker than Her-
bert Spencer. Let us hear what he has to say
regarding his own practice :
**It has never been my way to set before my-
self a problem and puzzle out an answer. The
conclusions at which I have from time to time
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 85
arrived, have not been arrived at as solutions of
questions raised; but have been arrived at un-
awares—each as the ultimate outcome of a body
of thoughts which slowly grew from a genn.
Some direct observation, or some fact met with
in reading, would dwell with me: apparently
because I had a sense of its significance* It was
not that there arose a distinct consciousness of
its general meaning; but rather that there was
a kind of instinctive interest in those facts
which have general meanings. For example,
the detailed structure of this or that species of
mammal, though I might willingly read about it,
would leave little impression; but when I met
with the statement that, almost without excep-
tion, mammals, even as unlike as the whale and
the giraffe, have seven cervical vertebrae, this
would strike me and be remembered as sugges-
tive. Apt as I thus was to lay hold of cardinal
truths, it would happen occasionally that one,
most likely brought to mind by an illustration,
and gaining from the illustration fresh distinc-
tiveness, would be contemplated by me for a
while, and its bearings observed. A week after-
wards, possibly, the matter would be remem-
86 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
bered ; and with further thought about it, might
occur a recognition of some wider appUcation
than I had before perceived : new instances be-
ing aggregated with those already noted.
Again after an interval, perhaps of a month,
perhaps of half a year, something would remind
me of that which I had before remarked; and
mentally running over the facts might be fol-
lowed by some further extension of the idea.
When accumulation of instances had given body
to a generalization, reflexion would reduce the
vague conception at first framed to a more
definite conception; and perhaps difficulties or
anomalies passed over for a while, but even-
tually forcing themselves on attention, might
cause a needful qualification and a truer shap-
ing of the thought. Eventually the growing
generalization, thus far inductive, might take
a deductive form: being all at once recognized
as a necessary consequence of some physical
principle — some established law. And thus, lit-
tle by little, in unobtrusive ways, without
conscious intention or appreciable effort, there
would grow up a coherent and organized theory.
Habitually the process was one of slow unforced
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 87
development, often extending over years; and
the thinking done went on in this gradual, al-
most spontaneous way, without strain. . . /'^
But compare this method with that of John
Stuart Mill ; who speaks of * * the mental habit to
which I attribute all that I have ever done, or
ever shall do, in speculation; that of never
abandoning a puzzle, but again and again re-
turning to it until it was cleared up ; never al-
lowing obscure comers of a subject to remain
unexplored because they did not appear im-
portant ; never thinking that I perfectly under-
stood any part of a subject until I understood
the whole/' 2 Mill's method was, in short,
* ^ that of conscious and vehement effort directed
towards the end he had in view. He solved his
problems by laborious application and study. ' ' ^
William Minto writes of Adam Smith : * * His
intellectual proceedings were calm, patient, and
regular: he mastered a subject slowly and cir-
cumspectly, and carried his principles with
steady tenacity through multitudes of details
i Autobiogra/phy, Vol. I, p. 463.
2 Autobiography.
s Hugh Elliot, The Letters of John Stuart Mill.
88 THINEINa AS A SCIENOE
that would have checked many men of greater
mental vigor unendowed with the game invin-
cible persistence/'
With such thinkers differing so markedly in
their methods, the ordinary man is left bewil-
dered. He may indeed decide that effort or no
effort makes little difference. Let us, however,
look to the psychology of the question, and see
whether we can find any guiding prindple.
Spencer, defending his method, says: **A
solution reached in the way described, is more
likely to be true than one reached in pursuance
of a determined effort to find a solution. The
determined effort causes perversion of thought.
When endeavoring to recollect some name or
thing which has been forgotten, it frequently
happens that the name or thing sought will not
arise in consciousness ; but when attention is re-
laxed, the missing name or thing often suggests
itself. While thought continues to be forced
down certain wrong turnings which had origin-
ally been taken, the search is vain ; but with the
cessation of strain the true association of ideas
has an opportunity of asserting itself. And,
similarly, it may be that while an effort to ar-
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 89
rive forthwith at some answer to a problem,
acts as a distorting factor in consciousness and
causes error, a quiet contemplation of the prob-
lem from time to time, allows those proclivities
of thought which have probably been caused un-
awares by experiences, to make themselves felt,
and to guide the mind to the right conclusion. * *
Spencer's first argument, that an effort to
recollect something is often without results,
while the thing is remembered later when we
are not trying to think of it, is true as to fact.
But it does not show that the effort was un-
fruitful. As pointed out in the discussion of
association, one idea is associated with not only
one other idea but with an entire group. This
may give a possible explanation of why it is so
often difficult to recollect anything when we
make a determined effort. The attempt partly
arouses a whole cluster of ideas, each of which
tends to return, but is prevented from doing so
by all the others. It is analogous to a crowd of
people all struggling to get through a narrow
doorway. They cause such a jam that for, a
time no one succeeds. When the pushing and
jostling cease one person at a time is able to
90 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
pass through. When effort is abandoned, prob-
ably all but one of the associates become dor-
mant, and this one slides into consciousness at
the slightest provocation.
Whether or not this explanation is true, it is
a fact that though an effort may not produce re-
sults at the time, still if it had not been made,
the associate which finally comes to mind would
probably never have occurred at all. The
reader has possibly found that when learning
some skilled movement, such as bicycle riding,
skating or swimming, his first attempts seemed
without result, but after an interval of a week or
a month, when trying again, he suddenly dis-
covered that he could do what he wanted from
the very start. Surely no one would contend
that this could happen without the previous ef-
fort I
I must also question Spencer's remark that
**with the cessation of strain the true associa-
tion of ideas has an opportunity of asserting it-
self. '' The brain has no hidden mechanism by
which it can separate the true from the false.
To be sure, if we use no effort the most usual
and strongest associations will be more likely
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 91
to assert themselves, and it may be that often
these will have more warrant than unusual and
weaker associations. Outside of this, there is
no superiority.
But the main reason why we cannot follow the
method of Herbert Spencer is that we are not
all Herbert Spencers. His thought naturally
tended to serious and useful channels. Conse-
quently he did not have to force it there. If the
reader is one of those rare and fortunate be-
ings whose thoughts run only to useful subjects,
and who always concentrate from pure spon-
taneous interest, I sincerely advise him not to
force himself. And if such a being happens to
be reading the present chapter I assure him he
is criminally wasting his time, and that he
should drop the book or turn to the next chapter
with all possible haste. But if the reader num-
bers himself with the miserable majority whose
minds are ever running away with them, he will
find it necessary to use effort in thinking — at
least for a while.
One remark of Spencer is undoubtedly true.
This is ^Hhat an effort to arrive forthwith at
some answer to a problem, acts as a distorting
92 THINEINa AS A SCIENCE
factor in consciousness and causes error/'
And here, strange to say, his practice is in sub-
stantial agreement with the apparently opposite
method of John Stuart Mill. For note that Mill
speaks of ** again and again returning to it
[a puzzle] until it was cleared up/'
Both imply their agreement' rather than state
it outright; Spencer by his use of the word
**forthwith*' and Mill by his words ^^ again and
again. * ' Here the practice of both differs from
that of the vast majority of men. Yet neither
thinker seemed to be clearly conscious how it
differed. The average man (that mythical
creature 1) when he has just been confronted
with a problem, may wrestle with it with all the
vigor of a great thinker. But as he sees diffi-
culties multiplying about him, he gradually be-
comes more and more discouraged. Finally he
throws up the problem in disgust, contenting
himself with the reflection that it cannot be
solved, or that it will take somebody who knows
more thaa he to solve it.
A real thinker, however, if confronted with
the same problem, will look for a solution from
every possible viewpoint. But failing an an-
THINEINO AS A SOIENOE 93
swer he will not give up. Instead he will let
the subject drop for a while, say a couple of
weeks or perhaps longer, and then refer to it
again- This time he will find that certain ob-
scurities have become a little clearer; that cer-
tain questions have been answered. He will
again attack his puzzle with energy. And if he
does not obtain a complete solution he will once
more put it aside, returning to it after another
interval, until finally a satisfactory solution
presents itself.
You may fail to see any difference between
thinking for two hours separated by two weeks,
and thinking for two consecutive hours. As an
experiment, then, the next time you come across
a puzzle which you fail to solve at first tilt, write
down all the unsatisfactory solutions suggested,
and all the questions, diflBiculties and objections
met with. You may leave this for a few weeks.
When you return to it a few of the difficulties
will look less formidable, and some of the ques-
tions wiU have practically answered themselves.
(Of course some of the difficulties may look
more formidable, and a few new questions may
have arisen.) If a solution is not found at the
94 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
second attempt, the problem may again be sent
to your mental waiting room. But if it is only
of reasonable diflSculty a solution is bound, soon
or late, to be discovered.
It is difficult to say just what effects this
change in thought, when apparently one has en-
gaged in no reflection during the interval.
The attempted solution probably gives a certain
**sef to our minds. Without being aware of
it we observe facts relating to our problem.
Ideas which occur to us in other connections
are unconsciously seen in their bearing on the
unsolved question. In short, *' those proclivi-
ties of thought which have probably been
caused unawares by experience*' make them-
selves felt.
It may be imagined that if we think too much
we will be liable permanently to injure our
mighty intellects. This has sometimes hap-
pened. But there is no serious danger of it.
Thinking on one useful subject for a long while
will not hurt you any more than thinking on a
thousand different useless subjects for the same
period. But of course you should not try to
concentrate when you are sleepy, when you
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 95
have a headache, when some other bodily pain
distracts your attention, or when your mind is
in any way tired. If you attempt to concen-
trate at these times you will endanger your men-
tal and physical health. Not only this, but the
thinking done during such periods will be of
such poor quality that it will be practically use-
less if not harmful. This applies even to cases
where mental fatigue is almost inappreciable.
Thinking done in the evening seldom approaches
in efficacy the thinking done in the first hours of
the morning. But you should always make sure
your mind is actually tired. It may merely be
tired of a particular subject.
An objection of a different kind may be raised
against concentrating at every opportunity. It
has often been noticed that names have been
recalled and problems solved when we were
thinking of something else. It may be urged
that such solutions would not have occurred
when concentrating, because the exact associa-
tions which led up to them would not have been
present. This is occasionally true. But there
are still reasons why I must maintain my posi-
tion. No matter how well a man may have
I
96 THmKINO AS A 80IEN0E
trained himself to concentrate, there will always
be short periods when his mind will wander,
and these will suffice for any accidental associa-
tions. Moreover, the fact that these mind wan-
dering periods occasionally do good does not
excuse their existence. The most fallacious
ideas, the most demoniacal practices, the most
despicable characters of history, have occasion-
ally done good. The fact is that for every use-
ful association which occurs during mind wan-
dering, ten associations just as useful will occur
during concentration. The only reason useful
mind wandering associations appear frequent is
that they are unexpected, therefore more no-
ticed when they come.
It has been frequently said that many of the
world's greatest inventions were due to acci-
dent. In a sense this is true. But the accident
was prepared for by previous hard thinking.
It would never have occurred had not this
thinking taken place. It is said that the idea of
gravitation came to Newton because an apple
fell on his head. Perhaps. But apples had
been falling ever since there were apple trees,
and had probably been falling on men's heads
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 97
ever since men had acquired the habit of getting
their heads in the way. The idea of the steam
engine is supposed to have come to Watt while
observing a tea kettle. But how many thou-
sands before him had not seen steam coming
out of kettles? The idea of the pendulum for
regulating time occurred to Q-alileo from observ-
ing a swinging lantern in a cathedral. Think
how many others must have seen that lantern
swinging I It is probable that in all these cases
the invention or idea had been prepared for, had
been all but formed, by downright hard think-
ing in previous periods of concentration. All
that was needed was the slightest unusual oc-
currence to make the idea complete and con-
scious. The unusual occurrence, the accident,
which has so often received the credit for the
invention or the idea, merely made it come
sooner, for with the thinking these men did, it
was bound to come eventually. . . .
Of course I really do not seriously expect any-
body to concentrate at every opportunity. I
don't myself. I merely wanted to establish the
fact that it's the best thing. But every man,
even the tired business variety, should set aside
98 THINEINO AS A SOIENOE
at least half an hour a day, or three and a half
hours a week. I realize what a great hardship
it is for some people to devote one-forty-eighth
of their time to such a useless pastime as think-
ing. But if they will make the sacrifice for
seven consecutive days they will find themselves
bearing up nobly at the end.
There is even a possibility that they may be
encouraged to extend the time.
PREJUDICE AND UNCERTAINTY
^^TTIROM time to time there returns upon
JL the cautions thinker, the conclusion that,
considered simply as a question of probabili-
m
ties, it is decidedly unlikely that his views upon
any debatable topic are correct. * Here, * he re-
flects, ' are thousands around me holding on this
or that point opinions differing from mine —
wholly in most cases; partially in the rest.
Each is as confident as I am of the truth of his
convictions. Many of them are possessed of
great intelligence; and, rank myself high as I
may, I must admit that some are my equals —
perhaps my superiors. Yet, while every one of
us is sure he is right, unquestionably most of us
are wrong. "Why should not I be among the
mistaken? True, I cannot realize the likelihood
that I am so. But this proves nothing; for
though the majority of us are necessarily in
error, we all labor under the inability to think
09
100 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
we are in error. Is it not then foolish thus to
trust myself ? When I look baxjk into the past,
I find nations, sects, philosophers, cherishing be-
liefs in science, morals, politics, and religion,
which we decisively reject. Yet they held them
with a faith quite as strong as ours; nay —
stronger, if their intolerance of dissent is any
criterion. Of what little worth, therefore,
seems this strength of my conviction that I am
right? A like warrant has been felt by men all
the world through ; and, in nine cases out of ten,
has proved a delusive warrant. Is it not then
absurd in me to put so much faith in my judg-
ments!' ''^
I trust the reader will pardon this second
rather extended quotation from Herbert Spen-
cer, but the thought expressed must be kept in
mind if we are to approach our present subject
in the proper spirit
Our subject is prejudice. Our object is to
free ourselves as much as possible from our
own prejudices. But before we can get rid of
a thing it is first necessary to recognize that
thing when we see it.
1 Essay, Over-Legislation,
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 101
Prejudice is often confused with intolerance.
They are not the same. A man may be preju-
diced and not intolerant. You may think that
your alma mater, your city, or your country, is
the greatest in the world, for little other reason
than simply that it is yours. Your opinion is
prejudiced. But you may not protest if any
other man thinks that his alma mater, or his
city, or hi^ country, is the best in the world. In
fact you may not have much respect for him
if he doesn't think so. And your opinion is
tolerant.
On the other hand, a man may be intolerant
and not prejudiced. You may decide, solely on
the evidence and on grounds of pure reason,
that paper money — ^fiat money-^is always a
harmful form of currency, and you may be
justly wrathful against the man who advocates
it. You may even wish him suppressed. Yet
you may be able to answer all his arguments.
But you fear that if he is allowed to air his
views they will take hold on minds as shallow
as his own. You fear that once they have taken
root it will be difficult to dislodge them, and that
in the meanwhile they may do harm by being
102 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
put into practice. You are intolerant. But
you are not prejudiced. It is well to remem-
ber this distinction when accusations of preju-
dice are flying through the ozone.
One thing more must be kept in mind.
Prejudice has less connection with truth and
falsity than is generally supposed. The fact
that a man is unprejudiced does not make his
opinion right. And the fact that a man is
prejudiced does not necessarily make his opin-
ion wrong; though it must be admitted that if
it is right it will be so only by accident.
It is often thought that prejudice can be im-
mediately recognized. Locke says, * ^ Every one
is forward to complain of the prejudices that
mislead other men. or parties, as if he were free
and had none of his own. . . . This is the mote
which every one sees in his brother *s eye, but
never regards the beam in his own. ^ * ^ How-
ever, slight consideration will convince us that
because one man accuses another of prejudice,
it does not follow that the accused is guilty.
The general practice is to accuse of prejudice
s Thi Conduct of the Understanding,
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 103
any one whose views happen to differ from our
own.
Let us consider a formal dictionary definition
of prejudice: ** Judgment formed without due
examination ; opinion adverse to anything, with-
out just grounds or suflScient knowledge. *'
This is not altogether satisfactory. A man
may form a judgment without sufficient knowl-
edge and still be unprejudiced. He may be per-
fectly open minded and willing to change his
opinion if other evidence is adduced. But even
if the formation of a judgment without suffi-
cient knowledge is prejudice, it is often justi-
fied. At all events, every one will agree that
the foregoing definition helps us little in dis-
covering our own prejudices. All of us, for in-
stance, believe our judgment on any given ques-
tion has been formed with due examination,
each being his own judge of what constitutes
**due.^^
It is difficult to find any satisfactory defini-
tion. Perhaps the best I can do is to point out
various specific forms of prejudice and their
causes. The first form of prejudice I shall
104 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
name consists in a love for, and a desire to hold,
some opinion. We may roughly ascribe this de-
sire to three causes :
(1) We desire an opinion to be right because
we would be personally benefited if it were.
Promise a man that if he invests his money in
the Lookgood Gold Mine he will receive divi-
dends of over 40 per cent. aonuaJlyy and he is
in danger of becoming extremely gullible. He
shirks looking up the previous record of the pro-
moters or directors because he has a secret and
indefined fear that if he does he wiU find their
pictures in the Eogues' Gallery. Advertise in
a magazine that any thin man can gain seven
to fourteen pounds a week by drinking Fattilac
and you will receive hundreds of answers en-
closing the fifty cents for a trial bottle. Not
one desperately slim man in ten will stop to
ask himself how the. miracle can be performed.
In fact, he will do his worst to argue himself
into the matter. He wiU tell himself that the
advertisement is in a reliable magazine, that
the company would not dare to make an as-
sertion like that unless it could make good,
that . . .
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 105
But we may pass over the more obvious bene-
fits, and proceed to those causes of prejudice
less consciously selfish or directly beneficial.
K an economist were to write a book attempt-
ing to prove that bankers were really unneces-
sary and could be dispensed with, it is a rather
sure guess that a banker would not regard very
highly the intellectual powers of that economist.
If he considered his arguments at aU, it would
be only with the view of refuting them. In an
even less conscious way, a rich man is likely to
oppose socialism or communism, not so much
because he has evidence of intrinsic worth
against them, but because he fears that if such
systems of society were put into effect he would
lose most of his wealth. The man who has
nothing is likely to look with favor upon these
schemes, because they offer him promise of
better things.
The mere fact that we are ignorant of a cer-
tain thing will prejudice us against it, while
knowledge of it will prepossess us in its favor.
Ten chances to one a person who has been
taught Esperanto will favor the adoption of an
international language — and the adoption of
106 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
Esperanto in particular. Most of the remarks
on the uselessness of the classics come from
those ignorant of them ; while those who, in or-
der to get a college degree or for some like
reason, have been forced to study Greek and
Latin, will generally always exaggerate their
importance. Most of the opposition to simpli-
fied spelling is due to the fact that having taken
the time and toil to master our atrociously in-
consistent spelling, people have a vague fear
that if a phonetic system were adopted, chil-
dren, the ignorant classes and persons of poor
memories would be able to spell just as well as
they, without one quarter the trouble of learn-
ing. Not that they are conscious of this child-
ish and unworthy attitude, for usually they are
not, but the motive is operative none the less.
Of course in all the foregoing cases of preju-
dice, as in those to follow, none of the victims
ever uses any of his real reasons in argument,
though he will bring forward nearly every other
reason on earth to justify his belief. And to do
him justice, it must be admitted that he is often
unaware of the true cause of his inclination to
one side rather than another.
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 107
Though it is less directly selfish, the patri-
otic bias may fairly be classed with the preju-
dices we have just been considering. At this
time the most stupendous war of aU history is
raging. But I know of no German or Austrian
or Turk or Bulgarian who has so far admitted
that the British or the French or the Eussians
or the Italians or the Belgians or the Servians
or the Montenegrins or the Japanese can by
any possibility have right on their side, nor do
I know of any Japanese or Montenegrin or
Servian or Belgian or Italian or Russian or
Frenchman or Englishman who believes that
the Bulgarians or the Turks or the Austrians or
the Germans are in the right. Philosophers
and men of science are no exception; Miinster-
berg, Eucken and Haeckel write publicly in
favor of Germany and fifty of England ^s fore-
most authors unanunously sign a pronuncia-
mento in support of their native country — ^yet
nobody is surprised.
(2) Another reason why we desire an opin-
ion to be right is because we already happen
to hold it. As one writer expresses it, *^We
often form our opinions on the slightest evi-
108 THINEINO AS A SOIENOE
dence, yet we are inclined to cling to them with
grim tenacity/* There are two reasons for
this.
When we have formed aA opinion on any-
thing, the chances are that we have communi-
cated it to some One, and have thereby com-
mitted ourselves to that side. Now to reverse
an opinion is to confess that we were previously
wrong. To reverse an opinion is to lay our-
selves open to the charge of inconsistency. To
be inconsistent — ^to admit that our judgments
are human and fallible — this is the last thing
we can ever think of. ^* Inconsistency,*' said
Emerson, *4s the hobgoblin of little minds.*'
And if by this he meant inconsistency in the
sense of changing opinions already formed, we
must agree with him.
The hypothesis maker has a specific form of
this fear of inconsistency. This type of the-
orist makes a supposition to account for cer-
tain facts. When he meets with certain allied
facts for which the supposition apparently does
not account, he either ignores said facts, or
cuts and trims them, or bullies thena into his
theory. Hypotheses per S9 have never done
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 109
any harm. In fact they are indispensable in all
thought, especially as an aid to observation.
But it is the desire to prove an hypothesis cor-
rect, simply because it is our hypothesis, or be-
cause it is a fascinating hypothesis, which has
done harm. Darwin says that he had made it
a habit '^whenever a published fact, a new ob-
servation or thought came across me, which was
opposed to my general results, to make a memo-
randum of it without fail and at once; for I
had found by experience that such facts and
thoughts were far more apt to escape from the
memory than favorable ones."
The second reason for desiring to cling to
an opinion because we already hold it is one
which could probably best be explained by physi-
ological psychology and a study of the brain.
We feel almost a physical pain when a tenet
we have long cherished is torn up and exposed.
The longer we hol^ an opinion, the harder it is
for us to get rid of it. In this respect it is
similar to habit. Nor is the comparison an
analogy merely. An opinion is a habit of
thought. It has the same basts in the brain,
and is subject to the sanje laws, as a habit of
110 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
action. It is well known that the opinions of a
man over forty are pretty well set. The older
a man grows, the harder it is for him to change
an opinion — or for others to change it for him.
The side of a controversy we see first is
usually the side we see last This is because
the arguments we meet do not have to shake up
or dislodge anything in our brain (unless we
are very critical, and we generally aren't).
But once let an opinion gain entrance, and any
opinion contrary to it will have to dislodge the
old one before it can find a place for itself.
And as Mark Twain has remarked, **When
even the brightest mind in our world has been
trained from childhood in a superstition of any
kind, it will never be possible for that mind,
in its maturity, to examine sincerely, dispas-
sionately, and conscientiously any evidence or
any circumstance which shall seem to cast a
doubt upon the validity of that superstition. ' '
Of course Mark Twain was wrong. Of course
we are The Eeasoning Race, as he cynically in-
timates we are not. To religion, for instance,
the most important question which can engage
our understanding, each of us always gives in-
THINKINa AS A SCIENCE HI
dependent thought. It is a mere accident, of
course, that ahnost all of the 400,000,000 China-
men are Buddhists. It is a mere accident that
the overwhelming mass of East Indians are
Brahmans. It is only by chance that practi-
cally all Turks, Persians and Arabians are
Mohammedans. And it merely happened to
happen that England is Protestant and Ireland
is Catholic. . . • But it is unsafe to bring this
question of religion too near home.
We now come to our third cause of desire :
(3) We desire an opinion to be wrong be-
cause we would be forced to change other opin-
ions if it were not ; or we desire an opinion to
be right because then we would be able to re-
tain our other opinions. This is a most wide-
spread form of prejudice. But I believe it is,
fortimately, the most defensible. Its defensi-
biKty, however, depends mainly on the opinions
we fear to change. These we may divide into
two kinds :
(a) Those which have been formed without
thought; borrowed opinions, etc. The greatest
opposition to the theory of evolution came from
those conservative Christians who saw that it
112 THINEINa AS A SCIENCE
undermined any literal interpretation of Gene-
sis. If these Christians had investigated the
sources of that book, had considered its prob-
able authority, had given thought to the possi-
bility of inspired writing, and had finally de-
cided in favor of the Biblical narrative ; then —
right or not — ^their opposition to Darwin's the-
ory would have been free at least from this
sort of prejudice. But most of this opposition
had come from persons who had not thought of •
Grenesis, but had accepted it from the first, be-
cause it had been dogmatically hammered into
their heads since childhood. Hence it was
prejudice, pure and simple.
(b) The second kind of opinions we fear to
change are those resting mainly upon evidence.
William James gives an example :
*'Why do so few * scientists* even look at the
evidence for telepathy, so-called? Because they
think, as a leading biologist, now dead, once said
to me, that even if such a thing were true, scien-
tists ought to band together to keep it sup-
pressed and concealed. It would undo the uni-
formity of nature, and all sorts of other things
without which scientists cannot carry on their
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 113
pursuits. ' ' ^ Darwin writes that when a youth
he told Sedgwick the geologist of how a tropical
Volute shell had been found in a gravel pit near
Shrewsbury. Sedgwick replied that some one
must have thrown it there, and added that if it
were *^ really imbedded there, it would be the
greatest misfortune to geology, as it would
overthrow all that we know about the super-
ficial deposits of the Midland Counties '* —
which belonged to the glacial period.*
Some readers may object to calling the last
case prejudice. They may say that Sedgwick
was perfectly justified. That, however, is not
the present question. Prejudice itself may
sometimes be justified. But Sedgwick tacitly
admitted that he not only believed the shell had
not been imbedded, he actually desired that it
had not been. And our desires always deter-
mine, to a great extent, the trouble we take to
get evidence, and the importance we attach to it
after we have it.
Emerson's remark, that inconsistency is the
hobgoblin of little minds, is true in a double
sense. For not only is it harmful to fear to
^'The Will to Believe* ^Autobiography,
114 THINKING AS A SCIENCE
change an opinion which we have entertained,
it is even harmful at times to fear to hold
simultaneously two opinions incongruous with
one another. If a thought springs up in your
mind, and you come to see after a time that it
is inconsistent with another thought, do not im-
mediately try to throw out one or the other. In-
stead, think the new thought out in all its bear-
ings and implications, just as if you had never
had the first. Perhaps follow the same practice
with the first idea. By and by one will reveal
its falsity and the other its truth. Or more
likely you will find that there was some truth in
each idea, and you will reconcile the two in a
truth higher, deeper, or more comprehensive.
I have set down these three cases of preju-
dice to help the reader in recognizing the same
or similar prejudices in himself. And the mere
recognition of prejudices as prejudices will do
much toward their elimination. But though we
aU strenuously maintain our anxiety to get rid
of prejudices, the real reason most of us have
them is that we do not want to get rid of them.
We are all willing to get rid of prejudice in
THINEma AS A SCIENCE 115
the abstract. But when some one troubles him-
self to point out any particular concrete preju-
dice of ours we defend it and cling to it like a
dog to his bone. The only way we can get rid
of this desire to cling to our prejudices, is thor-
oughly to convince ourselves of the superiority
of the truth; to leave not the slightest doubt
in our own minds as to the value of looking with
perfect indifference on all questions ; to see that
this is more advantageous than believing in that
opinion which would benefit us most if true,
more important than ** being consistent, ' ' more
to be cherished than the comfortable feeling of
certainty. When we really do desire to get rid
of our prejudices we will put ourselves on the
path of getting rid of them. And not before
then.
One more prejudice has yet to be considered.
This may be called the prejudice of imitation.
We agree with others, we adopt the same opin-
ions of the people around us, because we fear
to disagree. We fear to differ with them in
thought in the same way that we fear to differ
with them in dress. In fact this parallel be-
tween style in thought and style in clothing
116 TmNKma as a science
seems to hold throughout. Just as we fear to
look different from the people around us be-
cause we will be considered freakish, so we fear
to think differently because we know we will be
looked upon as ** queer/' If we have a number
of such dissenting opinions we will be regarded
as anything from a mere crank to a fanatic or
one with a * * screw loose. ' ' When our backs are
turned people will wisely point their index fin-
gers to their temples and move them around in
little circles.
Our fear of freak opinions is only equalled
by our dread of ideas old-fashioned. A little
while ago it was considered popular to laugh
at the suffragettes. And everybody laughed.
Now it is getting to be popular to laugh at the
anti-suffragettes. A little while ago it was con-
sidered quite comme il faut to fear socialism.
Now it is becoming proper to remark, * * There is
really quite a good deal of truth in their the-
ories. '' And soon we shall doubtless all be out
and out socialists.
Nor is the prejudice of imitation confined to
the layman. If anything, it is even more com-
mon among so-called * ^ thinkers. ' * I remember
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 117
quoting some remark of Spencer to an acquaint-
ance, and getting this : * * Yes, but isn 't Herbert
Spencer's philosophy considered deadf This
same acquaintance also informed me that John
Stuart Mill had been '* superseded. ' ' He can-
didly admitted — ^in fact seemed rather proud
of the fact — ^that he had read practically noth-
ing of either philosopher. I am not trying to
defend Spencer or John Stuart Mill, nor am I
attempting to bark at the heels of any of our
present-day philosophers. But I am willing to
wager that most of these same people now so
dithyrambic in their praise of James, Bergson,
Eucken and Russell will twenty-five years
hence be ashamed to mention those names, and
will be devoting themselves solely to Post-neo-
futurism, or whatever else happens to be the
passing fadosophy of the moment.
If this is the most prevalent form of preju-
dice it is also the most difficult to get rid of.
This requires moral courage. It requires the
rarest kind of moral courage. It requires just
as much courage for a man to state and defend
an idea opposed to the one in fashion as it
would for a city man to dress coolly on a swel-
118 THINKING AS A SCIENCE
tering day, or for a young society woman to at-
tend a smart affair in one of last year's gowns.
The man who possesses this moral courage is
blessed beyond kings, but he must pay the fear-
ful price of ridicule or contempt.
There is another form of this prejudice of
imitation radically opposed to this. Just as
with fashions in clothes there are people who
strive to imitate others, so there are people who
devote themselves entirely to being ''differ-
enf Their greatest fear is that they will be
taken for * * one of the mob. ' ' They dress them-
selves as uniquely as possible in order to ac-
quire * ^ individuality. ' ' We have these same
people in the realm of thought. They are in
constant trepidation lest they say something
that everybody else says. They say things not
for the sake of truth but for humor or paradox.
Their great delight is to affirm or defend some-
thing *'new'' regardless of its truth; something
deliciously radical which will shock everybody
else and startle even themselves. The worst
part of this is that these people gradually come
to regard their propositions as true, just as a
]i^T finally comes to believe his own lies^
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 119
The only cure for such a mental condition
is a constant sincerity in every opinion we ad-
vance. People are often led into the fault by
a motive not incommendable in itself — ^the de-
sire for originality. But they choose the wrong
path to their goal. If you make originality and
radicalness your aim, you will attain neither
truth nor originality. But if you make truth
your aim you will very likely get truth, and
originality will come of itself.
There are hundreds of prejudices, hundreds
of forms of prejudice. There is, for instance,
the prejudice of conservatism, which manifests
itself in a vague fear that if the present order
were changed in any particular — ^if women were
given the vote, if socialism were to triumph, if
a new filing system were to be installed at the
oflSce— all would be lost. But I cannot deal ade-
quately with all the forms of bias which flock
to mind.
The distinguishing mark of the great, think-
ers of the ages was their comparative freedom
from the prejudices of their time and commu-
nity. In order to avoid these prejudices one
must be constantly and uncompromisingly
120 TmNEING AS A SCIENCE
sounding his own opinions. Eternal vigilance
is the price of an open mind.
Prejudice is not the only danger which lies in
wait for the would-be thinker. In his very ef-
forts to get rid of prejudice he is liable to fall
into an even greater intellectual sin. This sin
is uncertainty.
As uncertainty and doubt are nearly syn-
onymous, the reader will probably be surprised
at this statement because of the praise I have
hitherto accorded to the doubtful attitude. But
the doubtful attitude, necessary and praise-
worthy as it is, should not be maintained al-
ways. We think in order to have opinions.
We have opinions in order to guide action; in
order to act upon should occasion require.
Herbert Spencer, even after his remarks quoted
at the beginning of this chapter, which imply
the need of extreme caution, adds, **. . . In
daily life we are constantly obliged to act out
our inferences, trustless as they may be — . • .
in the house, in the oflSce, in the street, there
hourly arise occasions on which we may not
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 121
hesitate ; seeing that if to act is dangerous, never
to act at all is fatal. . . /'
There are other reasons why we cannot af-
ford to keep the doubtful attitude. If our lives
were interminable, if we had limitless time for
thinking, we could afford to remain in doubt in-
definitely. But life is fleeting. So if you have
examined facts obtainable on such a question as
psychic phenomena, have kept your mind open
for a certain time, and have decided that com-
munication with the dead is impossible, you ^re
justified in discontinuing to look for evidence
on that question. Every hour devoted to ex-
amining such evidence would be an hour taken
away from thought on some other subject, and
the law of diminishing returns is just as appli-
cable in thinking as in economics.
Another trouble with the attitude of doubt is
that when not properly utilized it hinders
rather than aids the acquisition of truth. This
is especially the case when it takes the form
of fear of prejudice. If guided by this fear, in
our anxiety not to discriminate in favor of one
side of a question we are apt to discriminate in
122 THtNEINa AS A SCIENCE
favor of the other. In an attempt to give an
opposing argoment due consideration, wo are
liable to give it undue consideration* Instead
of removing prejudice with reason we may be
trying to balance one prejudice with a counter
prejudice. When a person disagrees with him,
a very conscientious thinker, fearing that he
may be prejudiced, and in order to prove him-
self broad-minded, wUl often say regarding an
objection, **Well, there may be something in
that. ' ' Now your only excuse for ever saying,
'* There may be something in that,*' will be as
an attitude to assume in experimenting or ob-
serving, or looking up material or arguments
to find whether there actually is anything in it.
Then, if you do not find anything in it you are
justified in saying so — ^and you ought to.
^o is useless to stimulate doubt unless you
intend, on grounds of reason, to settle the doubt.
The doubtful attitude should he maintained
only so long as you are actively searchvng for
evidence hearing on a question. Maintained at
aHy other time or used in any other way it
means merely uncertainty, indefiniteness, vague-
ness, and leads nowhere.
THINKINa AS A SCIENCE 123
It is important that we be unprejudiced. It
is even more important that our views be defin-
ite. And if our definite views are wrong? . . .
But the words of Thomas Huxley on this sub-
ject cannot be improved :
**A great lawyer-statesman and philosopher
of a former age — ^I mean Francis Bacon — said
that tru th came out of error much more rapidly
t han it came out of c onfusion. There is a won-
derful truth in that saying. Next to being right
in this world, the best of all things is to be
clearly and definitely wrong, because you will
come out somewhere. If you go buzzing about
between right and wrong, vibrating and fluctu-
ating, you come out nowhere ; but if you are ab-
solutely and thoroughly and persistently wrong,
you must, some of these days, have the extreme
good fortune of knocking your head against a
fact, and that sets you all straight again. ' ' ^
When you find yourself fluctuating back and
forth between two opinions you might find it
helpful to hold an internal debate. State to
yourself as strongly as possible the case for the
affirmative, and then put as convincingly as pos-
^ Science and Education,
124 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
sible the case for the negative, holding a refu-
tation if necessary. You may even elaborate
this by writing the arguments for both sides in
parallel columns. Of course you should never
use an argument which you can see on its face
to be fallacious, nor a statement which repre-
sents merely a prejudice and nothing more.
You should use only such arguments as you
think a sincere debater would conscientiously
employ. By thus making your reasons articu-
late you will often find that there is really no
tenable case at all for one side, and you will
seldom fail to reach a definite conclusion.
This method of arriving at a decision may be
voted childish and even artificial, but nothing is
to be despised which can render intellectual
help.
One word more on this. T here is a t ype of
individual, most often met with Eunong writers,
who fears to make a statemenf of Es tlibught
definite, because he h£is a faint suspicion that it
may be wrong. He wishes to allow himself
plenty of loopholes to slip out of an intellectual
poStton Jn _case^_any ^^^ one ..should „attack it.
Hence he never says outright, *^Such and such
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 125
is the case.'' Instead, his talk or writing is
guarded on all sides by such expressions as **It
is probable that/' *4t is possible that," '*the
facts seem to indicate that"; or **such and such
is perhaps the case." Not satisfied with this
he makes his statement less positive by preced-
ing it with an * * I believe, ' ' or worse yet, with an
'^7 am inclined to believe."
This is often done under the impression that
it is something noble, that it signifies broad-
mindedness, lack of dogmatism, and modesty.
It may. If it does, so much the worse for
broadmindedness, lack of dogmatism, and mod-
esty. Never yield to the temptation to word
your thoughts in this manner. If you truly and
firmly believe that * ^ such and such is the case ' '
say **such and such is the case"; not ''it is pos-
sible that such and such is the case," or ''such
and such is perhaps the case, " or " it is my be-
lief that such and such is the case." People
will assume that it is your belief and not some-
body else's.
Suppose you have made a positive statement.
And suppose you later find it to be wrong?
Well then, acknowledge that it is wrong. Ac-
126 THINEINa AS A 8CIEKCE
knowledge that you have done something hu-
man ; that you have done something which every
man before you has done ; that yon have made
a mistake. I realize such a confession is hard.
It is the severest blow you can deal to your-
self, and few people will think the better of you
for doing it. Most of them will say, * * S ee, h e
acknowledges himself that he was wrong.'*
And withjbhese peoplgj both you anT jour the-
ory^wiU^be f ar more discredited than if you h ad
clung to it until the end of your life, no matter
how obviously, how flagirannyTlfopposed itself
to facts. But a f ewpeople will appreciate your
sacrifice. A few people will admire your big-
ness. And you will grow. You will grow as
a thinker. What is more, you will grow mor-
ally. And the time will come when you will
have fewer and fewer occasions to reverse your-
self, for you will learn to think longer before
you advocate an opinion.
The question of the avoidance of prejudice
and the necessity of breaking off doubt, remains
still unsettled. There can be no doubt that the
two desideratums conflict ; that to cut off doubt,
THINKma AS A SCIENCE 127
or even to refrain from stimulating it, is to en-
courage by so much the dominance of preju-
dice.
The answer to this question will depend en-
tirely upon the particular problem under con-
sideration. No rules can be laid down. Every-
thing will depend upon the importance of the
question, upon the possibility or frequency of
occasions when we may be called to act upon
the answer, and upon the way in which the an-
swer will affect conduct when we do act upon
it. Where the importance of the question is
trifling, it would be foolish to sound our preju-
dices too deeply, or to go to any elaborate pains
to collect evidence. Where immediate, unhesi-
tating ^ action is required, remaining in doubt
mi ^t be fa tal Any decision would be better
than no decision. When the importance of the
question is vital, or when the possibility of hav-
ing to act on the answer is distant, we can af-
ford to preserve our doubts, to suspend final
judgment, for years — ^perhaps during our entire
life; and we should spare no pains to investi-
gate fully all that relates to the question.
Just how much trouble to take, how long to
128 THINEINa AS A SCIENCE
keep alive the attitude of doubt in any particu-
lar question, will have to be decided by the in-
dividual. His own judgment must be the sole
criterion.
VI
DEBATE AND CONVERSATION
THE mind engages in many activities which
have power either for evil or good. Just
what influence they will exert depends on how
we use them. One of the most important of
these activities is debate.
Debate brings in that unequaled form of in-
centive for all action which psychologists call
** social pressure** and which here means noth-
ing more than the desire to excel a fellow-be-
ing in some line of endeavor. When debating
we concentrate, and we do so without conscious
effort. We are too interested in defeating our
opponent to wander from the subject. We are
forced to think rapidly. Not least of all, we are
compelled to think articulately.
But with all its advantages, debate is one of
the most potent sources of prejudice. In the
heat of controversy, we adopt any and every
129
130 THINKINa AS A SOIENOE
argument that comes handy. Every statement
of our opponent is considered only in the light
of how it can be refuted. We are willing to use
almost any objection against him, so long as we
believe he will see no flaw in it. It is of ut-
most importance that we find how to avoid these
pitfalls.
The first thing we must do is to adopt a com-
plete change of attitude toward an opponent's
arguments. Whenever we meet with a fact
which we would not like to cite in a debate ; be-
cause, to put it mildly, it would not help our
side; we should carefully investigate that
fact. We should consider whether if true it
changes the aspect of things^ We should get
rid of the idea that in order to vindicate our
side we must answer every contention our op-
ponent advances. For this opponent of ours
will very likely be a man in full possession of
his senses ; at least some of his arguments will
be rational. When they are, we should be will-
ing to p,cknowledge it. Their truth does not
necessarily make his side right. His argu-
ments may be irrelevant; they may be outbal-
anced by some other reason or reasons. At-
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 131
tempts to prove too much are liable to put us
into the position of the lawyer whose client is
alleged to have been sued for putting a hole in
a borrowed umbrella. The lawyer proved first,
that his client did not borrow the umbrella ; sec-
ond, that there was a hole in it when he got it ;
third, that there was nothing the matter with it
when he returned it.
After you have had a friendly argument with
an acquaintance, you take leave either with the
satisfaction that you have bested him, or with
a vague consciousness that though you were
right, he was just a trifle more skillful at bring-
ing forward arguments. Bu£ having this satis-
faction or dissatisfaction, you seldom think any
more of the matter until the next time you meet
him. Now this practice is helpful neither to
your debating nor your thinking. After you
have taken leave of your acquaintance, and are
left to the quietude of your own thoughts, you
should mentally run over your controversy.
You should dispassionately consider the bearing
and weight of his arguments ; and then, review-
ing your own, ask yourself which were valid
and relevant and which were not. If you find
132 THINEINa AS A 8CIEN0E
you have used a sophism you should resolve
never to use it again, even though your oppo-
nent may have been unable to answer it. The
question of morals aside, this is poor practice if
you ever hope to become a thinker. In the end,
it will tell against you even as a debater.
You can use your debates for constructive ma-
terial as weU as for criticism. After a con-
troversy you can go over the arguments of your
opponent which you could not refute, or refuted
but lamely, and think of the answers you might
have given. Of course you should take care
that these answers are not sophistical. The
question will very likely come up again; if not
with the same friend, then with another, and
when it does you will find yourself prepared.
But the best debater, or at least he who gets
the most from debating, is the man who looks
for evidence and thinks not for debate, but to
obtain a correct conclusion. After he has
reached a conclusion in this manner, he does not
advance every possible reason to support it
He does not even utilize the reasons on which
others base a similar belief, if he does not him-
self accept these reasons. He states merely
THINKma AS A SCIENGE 133
that evidence and those reasons which have led
him to accept his conclusion, nothing more.
While we are considering debate, I may well
say a few words about conversation in general.
We do not and cannot always argue with our
friends, even though we scorn the dictums of
formal etiquette. But because we do not ar-
gue, it does not follow that we gain nothing.
In fact, ordinary conversation has advantages
numerous over debate, not the least of which is
the comparative freedom it gives from preju-
dice. But the value of conversation depends
both on what we talk about, and whom we talk
with. Too much of our talk is on petty mat-
ters, is uneducative. And even if we converse
on worthy topics, it will profit us little if we
do not talk with worthy people. When we com-
mune with a dull mind, our thoughts are forced,
in some degree, down to the level of that mind.
But dull people do not usually talk of weighty
matters, nor do active intellects dwell long on
trifles. Therefore if we rightly choose our com-
panion we can conscientiously leave our path of
conversation to choose itself.
One aspect of conversation remains to be
134 THlNKINa AS A SCIENCE
treated — ^its corrective power. * * There is a sort
of mental exposure in talking to a companion;
we drag our thoughts out of their hiding-places,
naked as it were, and occasionally we are not
a little startled at the exhibition. Unexpressed
ideas are often carefully cherished until, placed
before other eyes as well as our own, we see
them as they really are, ' * ^
IT. Sharper Enowlaon, The Art of Thinking.
vn
THINKING AND BEADING
UP to now I have dealt with thinking al-
most as if it could be carried on without
external aid- As with cautionary and con-
structive thought, I have perhaps been led to do
this because of a reaction from the usual in-
sistence upon reading as indispensable to men-
tal improvement, and the corresponding neglect
of the need for independent thinking. Men
thought before there were books, and men can
still think without reading, but they cannot
... I was about to remark that they could not
read without thinking, but on second thought I
am inclined to doubt it. However, we have
clung to the natural order, for we first consid-
ered unaided thinking, then the help given by
conversation and dispute, and finally we are to
examine the aid rendered by reading. There
can be no doubt that this order f oUows the de-
186
136 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
velopment of thought both in the individual and
in the human race.
While no complaint can be made of lack of
quantity in what has been written on reading,
most of it has not taken up the subject from
the proper standpoint ; stUl less has dealt with
it in the right manner. There has been coun-
sel galore urging people to read; and recently
there has been a great deal of advice on what to
read. But comparatively very little has been
said on how to read. At one time reading was
regarded an untainted virtue, later it was seen
that it did us no good unless we read good books,
and now there is a dawning consciousness that
even if we read good books they will benefit us
little unless we read them in the right way.
But even where this consciousness has been
felt, little attempt has b^en made to solve the
problem systematically. Leisurely discourses,
pretty aphorisms, and dogmatic rules have been
the forms in whidi the question has been dealt
with. Such conflicting adages as * * A good book
should be read over and over again'*; and **The
art of reading is the art of skipping,** are not
THINEma AS A SCIENCE 137
very serviceable. The necessity of some sort of
orderly treatment is evident.
Before we consider how to read, some queer
person may ask us to put the previous ques-
tion, "Should we read at all!'* Now the value
of reading has, in times past, been seriously
doubted by thinkers and non-thinkers. The
philosopher Democritus put out his eyes so
that, ceasing to read, he might think. We are
not going to follow his example. But we can
readily sympathize with him when we think of
the many learned men who have read themselves
into dreamy stupidity ; men who know what
everybody else thought, but who never have any
thoughts of their own. We must admit that
the arguments of these cranks are at least good
medicine for the prevalent belief that the more
a man reads the more he will know and the better
thinker he will become.
Learning to think by reading is like learning
to draw by tracing. In each case we make the
work of another man our basis, instead of ob-
serving directly from Nature. The practice has
its value, it is true; but no man ever became a
138 THINEma AS A SCIENCE
great artist by tracing, and no man will ever be-
come a great thinker by reading. It can never
become a substitute for thought. At best, as
John Locke says, ' ' Beading furnishes the mind
only with materials of knowledge, it la thinking
makes what we read ours. ' ' ^
Our problem may be divided in two parts:
(1) What ratio should our reading bear to in-
dependent thinking, and (2) how should we read
when we do read?
It may be thought that we can learn some-
thing about the first question by investigating
the practice of great thinkers. But the out-
come of such an investigation is likely to be
disappointment. Kant, for instance, was an
onmivorous reader; so were Huxley and Sir
William Hamilton; and outside the circle of
philosophers, men as unlike as Gibbon, Macau-
lay, Milton and Thomas A, Edison. On the
other hand^ Spencer seldom ever read, and
Hobbes is famous for his remark that if he had
read as much as other men he would have known
as little. Auguste Comte was unique in that he
read copiously until he conceived his Positive
1 The Conduct of the Understanding,
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 139
Philosophy, and then hardly at all until the end
of his life.
Even were it found that most great thinkers
adhered to nearly the same practice, it would
prove little ; for how could we tell whether they
were good thinkers on account of, or in spite
of it?
We can agree a priori, however, with the re-
mark of Schopenhauer that **the safest way to
have no thoughts of one's own is to take up a
book every moment one has nothing else to do. ' '
And we may agree with him further : * * A man
should read only when his thoughts stagnate at
their source, which will happen often enough
even with th^ best of minds. On the other
hand, to take up a book for the purpose of scar-
ing away one's own original thoughts is a sin
against the Holy Spirit. It is like running
away from Nature to look at a museum of
dried plants, or gaze at a landscape in copper-
plate.'' ^
It would be folly to lay down any fixed
mathematical ratio between the time we should
devote to reading and the time we should give
2 On Thinking for Oneself.
140 THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
to thinking. But one hour given to reading
plus one hour given to. thinking would be cer-
tainly more beneficial than two hours devoted
entirely to reading.
You can find quite a number of serious-
minded men who put by a certain period each
day for reading. But how many of them put
by any time at all for thinking T It would be
unjust to say they do not think. But at best
their thinking is merely accidental — and ap-
parently considered so. Surely it is as impor-
tant that we lay aside a definite period each
day for thinking as it is that we lay aside some
time for reading. But how much this time
should be and whether it should bear any spe-
cific ratio to the time given to reading can best
be decided iEif ter a consideration of the problem
of how to read.
This problem has unfortunately been much
misconceived. Those who have laid stress on
the maxim, **A good book should be read over
and over again,** have done so in the belief
that this is the best way to get the most out
of a particular book. But the object of read-
ing is not to get the best out of any one book,
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 141
but out of reading in general. A realization of
this end will change our problem somewhat.
It will bring us to a consideration, for exam-
ple, of the law of diminishing returns. While
the more we re-read a book the more we get out
of it, it must be remembered that with a few
possible exceptions, every time we re-read it
we add less to our knowledge than we did the
previous time. This means that we can usually
make much faster progress by reading other
books, in which case we do not merely read over
what we already know for the most part.
Whether re-reading is ever justified, and when,
is a question which will be considered a little
later.
The law of diminishing returns applies to an
entire subject as well as to a single book. That
is to say, past a certain point, every book we
read on a particular subject, while it will prob-
ably add to our knowledge, will not yield as
much return as a book of equal merit on another
subject, new to us.
The problem of reading asks how we can ac-
quire the greatest number of ideas, and how
we can arrive at truth rather than the verdict
142 THINKING AS A SCIENCE
of an author. It assumes a limited time and
asks how we can use that time most profitably.
Not least of all, it asks how we can best com-
bine our reading with original thought.
From the remarks already made, it is evident
that we cannot prescribe any one method for
dealing with all books. Even works of similar
nature and merit will be treated in different
ways, depending on the order in which we read
them, and like conditions. The mastery of any
book will not be an end in itself. It will be
subordinated to the larger end of obtaining the
best from reading as a whole. But for the sake
of clearness, I shall for the present consider
our end as the mastery of some particular sub-
ject, and shall indicate a plan of reading to best
serve that end. Needful qualifications will
come later.
I shall first outline a typical plan of study,
and then review and explain it in detail.
Assuming you have chosen a subject, your
first step should be to do a little unaided think-
ing on it. Next I would advise the selection
of a comprehensive text book. This should be
read critically and written note made of the
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 143
problems taken up which you do not believe ^
have been adequately treated, or the solutions
of which are in any way unsatisfactory. These
you should think out for yourself. A second
book may in some cases be read in the same
thorough manner as this first one, and the prob-
lems recorded in the same way. After that all
books on that subject may be read **hop, skip
and jump^* fashion, for the new problems or
solutions they suggest.
I do not expect the foregoing plan to be
strictly adhered to, for the nature of the sub-
ject studied will make certain changes necessary.
However, it demands more detailed explanation
and perhaps defense.
Let us take up the first step advised — ^giving a
little unaided thought to the subject. My only
reason for advising '*a little'* thinking, is that I
know if I asked more the reader would probably
do nothing at all. Indeed many readers will
fail to see the necessity of thinking about a sub-
ject before studying it. Many may even ques-
tion the possibility of doing so. * * How is a man
to think about a subject on which he knows noth-
ing r* you ask. Let us, however, consider.
144 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
The very fact that you want to study a sub-
ject implies that the phenomena with which it
deals are not clear to you. You desire to study
economics, for instance, because you feel that
you do not understand everything you should
about the production, distribution and consump-
tion of wealth. In other words, something
about these phenomena puzzles you — ^you have
some unsolved problems. Very well. These
problems are your materials. Try to solve
them.
* * But how can I solve them when I know noth-
ing of economics ? ' *
Kindly consider what a science is. A science
is nothing more than the organized solution of
a number of related problems. These problems
and their answers have been changed and added
to the ages through. But when the science first
started there was no literature on it. It origin-
ated from the attempts of men to solve those
problems which spontaneously occurred to them.
Before they started thinking these men knew
nothing of the science. The men who came after
them availed themselves of the thoughts of those
before, and added to these. The whole process
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 145
has been one of thought added to thought.
Yet, in spite of this, people still cling to the be-
lief, even if they do not openly avow it, that we
never can make any headway by thinking, but
that in order to be educated, or cultured, or to
have any knowledge, we must be reading, read-
ing, reading.^
I almost blush for this elaborate defense.
Everybody will admit the necessity for thinking
— ^in the abstract. But how do we regard it in
the concrete? When we see a man reading a
good book, we think of him as educating him-
self. When we perceive a man without a book,
even though we may happen to know that he is
engaged in reflection, we do not look upon him
as educating himself, though we may regard him
as intelligent. In short, our habitual idea of
thought is that it is a process of reviewing what
we already know, but not of adding anything to
our knowledge. Of course no one would openly
8 This may seem unjustified. Witness, however, this re-
markable statement in a prospectus of Charles Eliot's "Five
Foot Shelf": "... The man who has not read the 'Wealth
of Nations' is hardly qualified to speak or even think wisely
on these vital subjects." If this be true, Adam Smith him-
self was hardly qualified because he certainly could not have
read his own book before he had written it I
146 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
avow this opinion, but it is the common acting
belief none the less. The objections to thought
are inarticulate and half -conscious. I am try-
ing to mate them articulate in order to answer
them.
To return, then, to the remark that we should
use as materials for unaided thinking the prob-
lems which occur spontaneously. You will find
when you begin to solve these that other prob-
lems will arise, and that up to a certain point,
the deeper you go into a subject — ^the more
critical you are in your thinking — ^the more
problems will occur. Perhaps it would be too
much to ask you to solve all of these. Yet even
a little of this preliminary thinking will be of
immense help in reading. It will give you a far
better sense of the importance of different prob-
lems which a book considers, and you will not
judge their significance merely by the space it
devotes to them. An author may indeed bring
before us certain problems which had not hith-
erto occurred, and stimulate in us a sense of
their importance. But this artificial stimula-
tion can never take the place of natural and
spontaneous wonder. Once we have obtained a
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 147
solution of a problem which has arisen spon-
taneously and from within, we do not easily for-
get it. Our independent thinking, too, will have
given us an idea of the diflSculties presented by
problems, and will make us more critical in
reading and more appreciative of the solutions
of an author. Not least of all, if we read first
we are extremely liable to fall into the routine
and traditional ways of considering a subject,
whereas if we first think, we are more likely in
our insophistication to hit upon an idea of real
originality.
One last objection to thinking before reading
remains. Schopenhauer has answered it in his
forcible manner :
**A man may have discovered some portion
of truth or wisdom after spending a great deal
of time and trouble in thinking it over for him-
self, adding thought to thought; and it may
sometimes happen that he could have found it
all ready to hand in a book and spared himself
the trouble. But even so it is a hundred times
more valuable, for he has acquired it by think-
ing it out for himself. For it is only when we
gain our knowledge in this way that it enters
148 THINKING AS A SCIENCE
as an integral part, a living member, into the
whole system of our thought; that it stands in
complete and firm relation with what we know,
that it is understood with all that underlies it
and follows from it, that it wears the color, the
precise shade, the distinguishing mark, of our
own way of thinking, that it comes exactly at the
right time, just as we felt the need for it ; that
it stands fast and cannot be forgotten. ' ^ *
Despite the strong case that Schopenhauer
makes out, I am satisfied with my former advice
— that a little thinking will suffice. Not only be-
cause, as already said, the reader will probably
do nothing if advised to do more; but because
after a certain amount of thinking has been
done, it is more profitable to avail ourselves of
the wisdom of the ages, stored in books, and to
do our thinking after we have acquired the main
outlines of this wisdom. For when we think a
problem out, with the feeling that even after we
have obtained a solution we shall probably find
it in a book later, we have not the incentive that
we have when we feel we have covered most of
4 Essay On Thinking for Oneself,
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 149
the old ground and that thinking may bring us
into new territory.
The practice of Gibbon remains to be consid-
ered : * * After glancing my eye over the design
and order of a new book, I suspended the per-
usal until I had finished the task of self-examina-
tion; till I had revolved in a solitary walk all
that I knew or believed, or had thought on the
subject of the whole work, or of some particular
chapter. I was then qualified to discern how
much the author added to my original stock, and
I was sometimes satisfied by the agreement,
sometimes armed by the opposition of our
ideas. * * '
The trouble with this method is that it is not
critical enough; that is, critical in the proper
sense. It almost amounts to making sure what
your prejudices are, and then taking care to use
them as spectacles through which to read. We
always do judge a book more or less by our pre-
vious prejudices and opinions. We cannot help
it. But our justification lies in the manner we
have obtained these opinions ; whether we have
Autobiography.
150 THINKINO AS A 8CIEN0E
infected them from our enviromnent, or have
held them because we wanted them to be true, or
have arrived at them from substantial evidence
and sound reasoning. If Gibbon had taken a
critical attitude toward his former knowledge
and opinions to make sure they were correct,
and had then applied them to his reading, his
course would have been more justifiable and
profitable.
In certain subjects, however. Gibbon ^s is the
only method which can with profit be used. In
the study of geography, grammar, a foreign
language, or the facts of history, it is well, be-
fore reading, simply to review what we already
know. Here we cannot be critical because there
is really nothing to reason about. Whether
George Washington ought to have crossed the
Delaware, whether ** shall'* and **wilP' ought to
be used as they are in English, whether the verb
** avoir** ought to be parsed as it is, or whether
Hoboken ought to be in New Jersey, are ques-
tions which might reasonably be asked, but
which would be needless, because for the pur-
poses we would most likely have in mind in read-
ing such facts it would be sufficient to know that
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 151
these things are so. We might include mathe-
matics among the subjects to be treated in this
fashion. Though it is a rational science, there
is such unanimity regarding its propositions
that the critical attitude is almost a waste of
mental energy. In mathematics, to understand
is to agree.
We come to the second step outlined in our
plan of study — the selection of a comprehen-
sive text book.
Every large subject has gathered about it a
vast literature, more than one man can ever
hope to cover completely. This literature may
be said to consist wholly of two things : infor-
mation as to facts, and opinions on those facts.
In other words, any book you read on that sub-
ject will probably contain some facts new to you
and will contain also the thoughts and reflec-
tions of the author. Of course you should en-
deavor to learn as many facts as possible. But
it is not necessary to know all that has been
thought about the subject. You are supposed
to have a mind of your own ; you are supposed
to do some thinking for yourself. But though
I.
152 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
it is not necessary that you know all that has
been thought, it is well that you know at least
part of what has been thought, and so far as
possible, the best part. For as just pointed out,
if you attempt to think out an entire subject for
yourself you will expend great energy and time
in arriving at conclusions which have probably
already been arrived at during the generations
that the subject has had its being. Therefore
you should endeavor to get, in as short a time
as possible, the greatest number of important
facts and the main outlines of the best that has
been thought.
So if you sincerely intend to master any sub-
ject, the best way to begin is by the selection of
the most comprehensive and authoritative work
you can secure.
The man who desires to study any subject is
commonly advised to read first a small ** intro-
ductory'* book, then a larger one, and finally the
largest and most authoritative volumes. The
trouble with this practice is that you will have to
study each book in turn. If you take up the
most thorough book first you need merely glance
through the smaller books, for the chances are
THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E 153
that they will contain little that is new to you,
unless they happen to be more recent. The only
justification for reading a small book first is that
the larger books are apt to be technical and to
assume a certain knowledge of the subject.
However, the authoritative treatise or treatises
on a subject usually refer far less to the smaller
books than the smaller books do to them. Any
greater depth of thought which the larger works
may possess can be made up for by increased
concentration on the part of the reader. Of
course if a man does not intend to master a sub-
ject thoroughly, but only to get some idea of its
broad outlines, the case is different. He would
then be justified in reading a small work.
Another advantage of beginning a subject
with the study of a comprehensive and authori-
tative volume or main textbook, is that you
avoid confusion. The man who has mastered
one foreign language, say French, will always
find his knowledge of great benefit to him :or the
study of another language, such as Spanish.
But any one who has begun at about the same
time the study of two or more foreign languages
must remember his confusion, and how his vague
154 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
knowledge of one tongue hindered him in the
acquisition of the other.
So with reading. When we peruse a book in
the usual casual way we do not master it. And
when we read a book on the same subject imme-
diately after it, the different viewpoint is liable
to cause bewilderment and make us worse off
than before the second book was started. We
do not like to devote a lot of time to one book,
but would rather run through several books in
the same time, believing that we thereby gain
more ideas. We are just as mistaken as a be-
ginner in swimming who would attempt to learn
several stroke.s before having mastered one well
enough to keep afloat.
A main text being of such importance, its
choice involves responsibility. But how are we
to know whether one book is superior to another
until we have read botht And if we are con-
fronted with this diflSculty even when familiar
with a subject, how much greater must be our
task when we know nothing of it? These diffi-
culties do not appear so formidable in practice.
Failing other means, the best method of se-
lecting a main text is by reputation. If we do
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 155
not even know what book has the best reputa-
tion, we can easily find out by referring to so
acknowledged an authority as the Encyclopedia
Britannica, and consulting the bibliography in
the article on the subject.
But reputation does not furnish the only
means of selecting. By merely glancing
through a book, stopping here and there to read
entire paragraphs — a task of ten or fifteen min-
utes — ^we can form an estimate which later read-
ing will usually justify. For an author betrays
himself in every line he writes ; every slightest
remark reveals in some manner the breadth and
depth of his thought. But just how well we can
judge a book in this way depends both on our
own ability and on the time we devote to glanc-
ing through it.
A few general requirements in a main text
have been implied in stating the purpose of hav-
ing one. The book with the best reputation is
not necessarily the best for you. In economics
Adam Smith 's Wealth of Nations, though easily
the most famous book on the subject, would
hardly be suitable as a main text because it has
been superseded. But though recency is always
156 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
an asset, this does not mean that the most recent
book is always or even usually the best. The
cjommon idea, though it is usually but vaguely
formulated, is that the writer of the more recent
book has had all the previous books to draw
upon, and has therefore been able to extract the
best from all of them and add to this his own
thoughts. The fallacy of this has been pointed
out in the trenchant language of Schopenhauer :
**The writer of the new book often does not
understand the old books thoroughly, and yet
he is unwilling to take their exact words ; so he
bimgles them and says in his own bad way that
which has been said very much better and more
clearly by the old writers, who wrote from their
own lively knowledge of the subject. The new
writer frequently omits the best things they say,
their most striking illustrations, their happiest
remarks, because he does not see their value or
feel how pregnant they are. The only thing
that appeals to him is what is shallow and in-
sipid. * '
The value of recency will depend on the sub-
ject ; while it would be essential in aviation, its
importance would be far less in ethics.
THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E 157
It is not well to take as your main text a book
presenting a number of different and conflicting
viewpoints. One purpose of a main text is to
avoid confusion. Do not start the study of
psychology, for instance, by reading a history of
the subject giving the views of different think-
ers. Begin by taking up one definite system.
Finally, be sure to select a book covering the
entire field. Do not, for instance, take a volume
on the tariff to begin the study of economics.
We pass now to the third step advised — to
read critically. By this I do not mean that we
should read skeptically or to confute everything
an author says. I mean simply that we should
resist our natural tendency to have our minds
swayed by every opinion he expresses. I mean
that before allowing an idea to slip into our
minds we should first challenge its truth; we
should examine its evidence.
Perhaps you have listened to a debate. After
the affirmative had made his impassioned plea
you were all for the affirmative. When the
negative came forward and presented his case,
you found yourself favoring him. . . . Why do
158 THINEINO AS A 8CIEN0E
debaters always try to get the last say? Why
is it that in a formal debate, the affirmative,
which usually has the last say, is most often the
side that winsl I could state the reason
bluntly. But if I did the honorable judges of
such controversies would- not feel that their
critical powers had been complimented.
The tendency to absorb the opinions of others
manifests itself to just as great a degree in read-
ing. I have held debating up as an example
merely because it brings out more strongly,
more strikingly, the effects of such a tendency.
But how can it be resisted ?
If we have thought out a subject thoroughly,
if we have acquired a stock of clear and definite
ideas on it, criticism in reading will largely take
care of itself. By dint of our own thinking we
will know what is relevant and what is not ; we
shall be able to judge the truth and importance
of the various arguments offered. The chances
are, however, that we shall not have given much
previous thinking to the subject, and that even
if we have we shall not have gone as far as the
author, who doubtless availed himself of other
books. Consequently certain problems which
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 159
he takes up will not even have occurred to us,
and hence will not have received our considera-
tion.
But where our thinking has not helped us, and
even where it has, we should look critically upon
every statement of an author, instead of lazily
acquiescing in it. The difference betw een
critical and ordinary reading, is that in the f or-
TnPT^jyp lonlr f or objections^ in the latte r we wait
until they happen to occur to us. Even then we
do not hold our objections steadily in mind ; we
are as likely as not to accept later arguments
based upon one we have previously objected to.
In order to avoid this perhaps the best we can
do when we object to any statement or believe
we have found a fallacy, is to make written note
of it in the margin. To some extent this will
prevent forgetting it. Too few or too many
marginal notes are both extremes to be shunned.
If we make too many we shall be apt to lose a
true sense of proportion and fail to distinguish
essential criticisms from nonessentials. The
only way we can keep clear of this extreme is to
avoid quibbling and hair-splitting, making only
such written criticisms as we feel we could un-
160 THINEINO AS A SOIENOE
blushingly defend before the author himself.
Often however we may feel that a statement is
imtme, or that an argument is fallacious, and
yet be unable to point out just where or how it
is so. In this case perhaps the best plan would
be merely to put a question mark in the margin
in order to remind ourselves that the statement
has not been fully accepted.
We ought to make sure what we object to be-
cause it is a peculiarity of the human mind that
it does not require evidence for a statement be-
fore accepting it ; it generally accepts any state-
ment which has no evidence against it. Unless
we reject a statement and know why we have
done so, it is liable to insinuate itself in our rea-
soning, and the longer it remains the more diffi-
cult it is to get rid of it. This is why it is so
important to avoid as many pitfalls as possible
at the beginning of a subject.
The reader may find that even when he reads
critically he will accept a certain statement at
the time; and then perhaps much later, say a
month, an objection to that statement will occur
to him, or he will see that it at least ought to
be qualified. For an explanation of this we
THINEINa AS A 80IEN0E 161
must go back to an analysis of the thinking
process. Every idea which enters the mind,
either from independent thinking or from read-
ing, IS accepted as tme if it is in full conformity
with onr past experience as we remember it.
In all thinking or reading, the new idea arouses
associates on its entrance. An hypothesis or
principle, for instance, arouses in our minds
past experiences of particular instances. If aU
these conform it is accepted. But in ordinary
uncritical reading or thinking, only a few asso-
ciates are aroused. In critical reading, we look
for as many associates as possible, especially
those which do not conform. It is this purpose
kept in mind which helps to recall and awaken
these associates. No matter how critical our
attitude, however, we cannot at any given time
recall every relevant associate, though later a
** non-conforming'* associate is likely to occur
to us by pure accident.
While you are criticising a book line by line,
and after you have finished reading it, you
should note the importance and relevancy of the
arguments accepted and rejected. While an
author may make a statement with which you
162 THINEINO AS A 80IEN0E
disagree, its truth or falsehood may not affect
the rest of what he has to say, or it may affect
merely a few corollaries drawn from it. In
other cases the truth of his entire conclusion
may depend upon it. Again, an author may in-
controvertibly prove something — ^which is en-
tirely without bearing on the subject. This
means that you should keep the precise ques-
tion constantly before your mind.
Often you will find an author making a state-
ment which really amounts to nothing more than
a mere airing of his prejudices, or at best the
bare statement of a conclusion. If he says,
^ ' Socialism is the greatest menace of our civili-
zation, ' * and leaves it go at that, not telling how
or why, you should mentally note this as a state-
ment, as a statement merely; you should not
allow it to influence your opinion either way.
Finally, remember that though you may be able
to refute every argument an author brings for-
ward in support of a conclusion, his conclusion
may still be correct. It is possible for a man
to be right for the wrong reasons.
While I believe all the foregoing suggestions
are judicious and necessary, I am willing to ad-
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 163
mit that their wisdom may reasonably be
doubted. But there is one practice about which
there can be no controversy — ^that of making
sure you thoroughly understand every idea of an
author. While most people will not verbally
contradict this advice, their actual practice may
be a continual contradiction of it. They wiU be
in such haste to finish a booi: that they will not
stop to make sure they really understand the
more difficult or obscure passages. Just what
they hope to gain it is difficult to say. If they
thiuk it is wasting time to try to understand
every idea, it is surely a greater waste of time
to read an idea without understanding it. To
be sure, the difficulty of understanding may be
the fault of the author. It may be due to his
involved and muddled way of expressing him-
self. It may be the vagueness of the idea itself.
But if anything this is all the greater reason
why you should attempt to understand it. It is
the only way you can find whether or not the
author himself really knew what he was talking
about. To understand thoroughly the thought
of another does not necessarily mean to sym-
pathize with it ; it does not mean to ask how that
164 THINKINO AS A 8CIEN0E
other came by it. It means merely to substitute
as far as possible concrete mental images for
the words he uses, and analyze those images to
discover to what extent they agree with facts.
Better to carry this out, you might follow an-
other practice of immense value. Whenever
you are puzzled as to an author's meaning, or
whenever you do not care to accept his solution
of a problem but are undecided as to what the
solution is, or whenever you want to carry an
idea further than he has, or above all, whenever
an original and important relevant thought is
suggested to you, you should take your eyes
from your book — shut it if necessary — ^and let
your thinking flow on; give it fair play, even if
it takes an hour before your vein of suggested
thought exhausts itself. Of course this prac-
tice will prevent you from finishing a book as
soon as you otherwise would. And if finishing
a book be your aim, I have nothing to say. But
if your end is to attain true, sound knowledge,
knowledge which you will retain ; if your object
is to become a thinker, the practice will prove of
unspeakable benefit. It will not interfere with
concentratioiL Eemember your object is to con-
THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E 165
centrate primarily on the subject, not on the
book ; you intend to become a thinker, not an in-
terpreter or a commentator or a disciple of any
author.
And there are two reasons why this thinking
should not be put off xmtil after you have
finished a book. The first and more important
is that after you have finished reading, most of
the ideas will have unrecallably dropped out of
mind. The second is that when you are unde-
cided about the solution of a problem, you will
often find later arguments depending upon that
solution. Unless its truth or falsity is decided
in your own mind you will not know how to deal
with these later arguments.
I have spoken of feeling that an argument is
fallacious, and of being unable to point out just
where it is so. To cease reading for a while,
and to endeavor to make these inarticulate ob-
jections articulate, is excellent practice for train-
ing analytic powers and developing clearness of
thought.
Another way of reading a book is what I
may call the anticipating method. Whenever
a writer has started to explain something, or
166 THINEINO AS A SOIENOE
whenever yon see that he is about to, stop read-
ing and try to think out the explanation for
yourself. Sometimes such thinking will antici-
pate only a paragraph, at other times an entire
chapter. School and college text-books, and in
fact formal text-books generally, often contain
lists of questions at the end of the chapters.
Where you find these, read them before you read
the chapter, and where possible try to answer
them by your own thinking. This practice will
make you understand an explanation much more
easily. If your thinking agrees with the au-
thor's explanation it will give you self-confi-
dence. It will make you realize whether or not
you understand an explanation. If you were
not able to think the thing out for yourself you
will appreciate the author's explanation. If
your thinking disagrees with that of the author
you vdll have an opportunity to correct him —
or be corrected. In either case your opinion
will rest on firmer grounds. Not least of all
you will be getting practice in self -thinking.
After reading and criticising a book, it is a
good practice to study one taking a different
viewpoint, or written even in direct opposition^
THINEINO AS A SOIENGE 167
You will doubtless find that it points out many
fallacies and controverts many statements in the
first book, which you allowed to pass unchal-
lenged. Ask yourself what the trouble was.
Was your attitude too receptive J Did yotl swal-
low words without substituting clear mental
images 1 Did you fail to trace out the conse-
quences of a statement! AJl these questions
will help you do better the next time.
Because of your ignorance of the facts, your
failure to refute a conclusion will sometimes
not be your fault. But even here, though you
cannot contradict an author *s statement of facts,
you can criticise conclusions drawn from those
facts.
Take an instance. In making an inquiry into
the causes of fatigue. Professor Mosso of Turin
selected two dogs as nearly alike as possible.
One he kept tied, and the other he exercised until
it was thoroughly tired. He then transfused
blood of the tired dog into the veins of the rested
one, and produced in the latter every sign of
fatigue. From this he concluded that fatigue
was due to certain poisons in the blood.
Now we cannot contradict the fact of this ex-
168 THINEINO A8 A SOIENOE
periment: that the rested animal was made to
look tired. But we can question the inference
drawn. The truth of the conclusion aside, was
the evidence suflScient to establish it? Might
not, for instance, similar results have been pro-
duced upon the rested dog if blood of another
rested dog had been transfused into it! Had
Mosso made such an experiment? Other objec-
tions should easily occur to one.
Questions which admit of treatment by study-
ing both sides are too numerous to mention.
The literature of philosophy furnishes particu-
larly good material. Examples which at pres-
ent occur to me are Sir William Hamilton's
philosophy versus MiU's Examination of Sir
William Hamilton's Philosophy, and Herbert
Spencer's First Principles versus WiUiam
James' essay, Herbert Spencer's Autobiog-
raphy and Henri Bergson's criticism of Spencer
in his Creative Evolution.
Uncritical students of the history of philoso-
phy often find themselves agreeing with each
thinker in turn, no matter how much he contra-
dicts previous thinkers, and end by acquiescing
in the last system they read about. I remember
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 169
a philosophy class which completed its studies
with Pragmatism. Of course it was merely a
coincidence, but at the end of the course fully
nine-tenths of the students declared themselves
Pragmatists 1
It is almost needless to remark that an author
who pretends to point out fallacies in another is
not necessarily right. There are men who pride
themselves on ** reading both sides of a sub-
ject**; but unless they have been critical, their
knowledge is not half as clear or as likely to be
true as that of a man who has read only one
side, but who has read it critically.
We have now to consider the next step out-
lined in the suggested plan of reading — ** writ-
ten note should be made of the problems taken
up which you do not believe have been ade-
quately treated, or the solutions of which are in
any way unsatisfactory. These you should
think out for yourself. * *
When reading a book you will often come
across a statement, perhaps an entire chapter,
with which you disagree. This disagreement
should be recorded in the form of a question;
170 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
as for instance, '*Is such and such the caseT'
You may doubt whether an author's explanation
really explains. You may have a vague inar-
ticulate suspicion that he is sliding over facts,
or that his solution is too superficial. This sus-
picion should also be recorded in the form of a
question. Often again, while reading, a prob-
lem coimected with the subject will occur to you
which the author has not even considered.
This too should be recorded.
All these questions should unfailingly be writ-
ten, either in the margin or on a piece of paper
or notebook kept always at hand. You should
then set aside a definite time for thinking
and attempt to solve the questions for your-
self.
And in thinking for yourself you should not
mal^e the author's remarks the basis of your
thinking. You should deal with a problem al-
most as if it had never occurred to any one else
but you. Simply because somebody else has
been satisfied with a certain solution, that is no
reason why you should be. You should deal
directly with the facts, data and phenomena un-
der consideration; not with the opinions of
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 171
others about those facts, data and phenomena.
You should not ask yourself whether the prag-
matists are right, or whether the nominalists
are right, or the socialists, or the evolutionists,
or the Democrats, or the Presbyterians, or the
hedonists, or what not. You should not ask
yourself which **st5hooP* of thinking you ought
to belong to. You should think a problem out
for yourself, in every way that phrase implies.
At the end you may, incidentally, find yourself
agreeing in the main with some school of
thought. However, this will be only accidental,
and your thought will be much more likely to be
true. But you should never agree with a school
of thought any more than independent thinking
leads you to.
Of problems dealt with in this manner, some
will take ten minutes, others a week. If you
encounter a particularly obstinate problem it
may be best to leave it for a while, say a week
or two or even longer, and go on with other
problems. "When problems are thus recurrently
treated it may take months, even years, before
a satisfactory solution is reached. In such
cases you should be willing to give months and
172 THINEINO AS A 8CIENGE
even years to their solution. If a problem is
not important enough to devote so much time
to you may be forced to abandon it; but you
should constantly keep in mind the fact that
you have not solved it, and you should be will-
ing to admit to others that you have not solved
it. Never allow mere intellectual laziness to
stifle your doubts and make you think you have
solved a problem, when you know in your heart
of hearts that you have worked yourself into
the state of belief merely to save yourself men-
tal discomfort.
When most of your problems have been solved
and your views made definite you may resume
your reading. You may proceed to other books
on the subject.
As to the suggestion that another book on the
subject might be dealt with in the same manner
as this first one : this will depend largely on the
individual subject. It will depend on just what
books have been written on that subject. If
none completely or adequately covers the field,
or if there are two or more good books repre-
senting radically different viewpoints, more
than one book probably ought to be studied in
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 173
this comprehensive manner. But this must be
left to the reader's discretion.
We come now to the last part of our plan —
** after that all books may be read 'hop, skip and
jump' fashion, for the new problems or solu-
tions they suggest.*'
I have already implied the necessity for this
in formulating the law of diminishing returns.
After we have read several books on a subject
it would be manifestly foolish to continue read-
ing books on that same subject in toto. We
would merely be going over again knowledge
already in our possession, instead of using our
time more profitably by entering new territory.
But any good book will contain something
unique; some facts or principles to be found
nowhere else; or perhaps merely an unusually
clear way of explaining some old principle,
or a new light on it. This we should endeavor
to get without wasting our time by plowing
through the entire volume.
Theoretically our problem is difficult; on its
face it would seem impossible. We are to read
all the important i>arts of a book; that is, the
174 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
parts most important for us, and nothing but
the important parts. But until we read it how
are we to know whether any given part of a
book is important! In practice, however, our
difficulty is not so formidable.
We can eliminate the greater mass of the rela-
tively useless part of a book by a glance at its
table of contents. If we see there titles which
suggest subjects or aspects of subjects in which
we are not interested, or that we feel we already
know enough about, or that are simply outside
the particular purpose we have in consulting
that book at all, we can omit those chapters and
confine ourselves to the others. . . .
When we were children first learning to read
we had to look at every letter in a word, then
spell it out. Finally its meaning dawned upon
us. As we became more proficient we did not
have to look at every letter; we could read
words as wholes with the same rapidity as the
separate letters. Accurate psychological tests
have determined that a man can read such words
as **and*' and **the^' with even greater rapidity
than any single letter composing them. We
finally reach the point where we can read short
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 175
phrases at the same rate as we formerly could
single words.
But the secret of the scholar who can cover
efficiently much more ground than ordinary men
is not so much that he reads faster, as that he
reads less. In other words, instead of reading
every word he glances down a page and sees cer-
tain **cue'' words or rather **cue'* phrases, for
the eye and mind take in phrases as wholes. If
he is familiar with the subject (and he is not to
employ this method unless and until he is) he
knows immediately, by **a sort of instinct" as
Buckle called it, whether any new or valuable
thought is on that page. When he finds that
there is he involuntarily slackens his pace and
reads that thought at ordinary reading pace or
even slower. Sometimes indeed he will read
whole chapters slowly, word for word, if the con-
tents are sufficiently novel and important to war-
rant it.
Bead by this *'hop, skip and jump'* fashion a
book the size of the present volume might take
an hour or even less. But it is almost impos-
sible to give even an approximate estimate of
the time such reading ought to take. Of course
176 THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
the longer you spend the more you will get out
of a book, but the return per time invested will
be less and less. On the other hand if you read
the book too fast you may be wasting your time
altogether ; you may end by understanding noth-
ing at alL Much will depend upon the original-
ity and depth of the book, upon the reader's
familiarity with the subject, and upon his native
mental qualities.
Many may object to practicing the foregoing
method because they have a vague feeling that
it is their duty to read every word in a book.
I suspect that the real reason for this is simply
so that when asked they can conscientiously say
they have read the book. 'Whereas if they had
followed this skipping method they would be
able to say only that they had ** glanced through
if or at best that they had **read parts of if
To this objection I have nothing to say, for I am
confining my remarks to those in search of truth
and knowledge rather than conversation and the
good opinion of those who believe that reading
from cover to cover is the only path to wisdom.
I might point out in passing, however, that if we
do follow this method there will be a half dozen
THINKINO AS A SCIENCE 177
books which we can say we have ** glanced
through" to one which we would otherwise have
been able to say we had * * read. ' '
This way of dealing with a book is construc-
tive and positive as opposed to the negative
method of critical reading. For we read for
suggestion only; we carry forward some line
of thought of an author, which is better for in-
tellectual development than trying to find if he
was wrong and where he was wrong. Not only
is this positive method more interesting ; in some
respects it is better even for criticism. For in
carrying forward an author's line of thought,
noting its consequences and implications and
considering different cases where it applies, we
find whether or not it leads to absurd conclu-
sions ; whether or not aU concrete instances con-
form with it. It should be kept in mind that
this method is not to be followed until the main
text-book has been studied. Consequently
when it is followed your mind will have been
fortified by previous reading and thinking;
valuable thoughts of an author will tend to im-
press you and be remembered, while his trite
or erroneous ideas will tend to be ignored.
178 THINEINO AS A SCIENCE
But after all, what is important is not your at-
titude or method at the time of reading a book,
but the thinking done later. The critical atti-
tude has its shortcomings, for when we are on
the lookout for an author's mistakes we often
miss the full significance of his truths. On the
other hand when '* reading for suggestion*' we
may too often allow an error to pass unques-
tioned. But both these disadvantages may be
overcome if we do enough thinking afterward.
Only one thing I must insist on: make sure
you understand every sentence of a book. Do
not ** guess" you understand it. Do not slide
over it in the hope that the author will explain
it later. Do not work yourself into the belief
that after all it is not really important. Eather
than this, better by far do not read the book at
all. Not only will you get little or nothing from
it but you will be forming the worst of intel-
lectual habits — ^that of thinking you understand
when you do not. If you have made every rea-
sonable effort to understand an author and then
have not succeeded, write in the margin ^*I do
not understand this,'' or draw a line alongside
the sentence or passage. If you have to do this
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 179
too often you should put the volume aside for a
time. It is either too advanced for you or it is
not worth reading.
As to the thinking you do after reading.
Often problems connected with the subject of a
book you have read may arise spontaneously in
mind, or an objection to a statement may sud-
denly occur to you when thinking on some other
topic. Of course when this happens you should
not stifle your thoughts. But besides this,
definite periods should be put aside for thinking
on what you have read and on the problems you
have written. I cannot insist on this too stren-
uously or too often.
A good task to set before yourself is to take
every idea you agree with in a book and try to
treat it as a "germ.'' Tell yourself that you
will develop it beyond the point where the au-
thor left off. Of course this will not always be
possible. You will seldom succeed. But there
is nothing like hitching your wagon to a star,
and it will do no harm to set this up as an ideal.
A few miscellaneous problems remain to be
considered.
180 THINEINO AS A SOIENOE
How should we deal with authors with whom
we disagree fundamentally? Herbert Spencer
relates that he twice started Kant's Critique of
Pure Reason, but disagreeing fundamentally
with the first and main proposition he ceased
reading. Now to do this is to give an author too
much credit for consistency. For even if every
other proposition he sets forth is ostensibly a
corollary from his leading one, some of them
will contain much truth. It is impossible to be
consistently wrong. Add to this the possibility
that the author may be right on his first proposi-
tion after all. However, no book with a view-
point radically different from our own should be
used as a main text, for we would get little
benefit from it. If the book is by an obscure
author we may safely lay it aside altogether.
But if it is by so famous aud so bepraised a
philosopher as Kant we should at least glance
through the entire volume for suggestions.
How many times ought we to read a book? I
have already partly answered this in formulat-
ing the law of diminishing returns. Few books
are worth re-reading. Bather than read one
book twice on any given subject it will most
THINEING AS A SCIENCE 181
often be more profitable to read another book
on it. For the second will nol only serve as a
review of previous knowledge, but will furnish
you with new ideas, different aspects and new
problems.
Certain books, however, can never be replaced
by others. They occupy this position either be-
cause they deal with a subject not elsewhere
dealt with or because they take an entirely novel
aspect, or solely because they are the works of
supreme genius, for while the main conclusions
reached in works of this last type may be found
elsewhere, the manner of thinking can never be.
These books should be read twice. The main
text-book selected on any subject will usually
be chosen because it is the best and most com-
prehensive work on that subject. For this rea-
son it should be read a second time even if such
reading is only of the hop, skip and jump
variety.
We should not re-read a book immediately
upon the first completion but should always
allow a long interval to elapse. There are sev-
eral reasons for this. After an interval we ac-
quire perspective ; we are in a position to know
182 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
whether a book has done us any good and just
about how much. We may find after this in-
terval that a work of which we thought quite
highly at the time of reading has really not
helped us appreciably either in thought or ao- ^
tion. We may find that we have outgrown the
need of it. Even if we finally decide to re-read
we shall find the wait of immense help to our
memory. If we re-read a book after an interval
of six months, three years after our second read-
ing we will remember its contents much better
than if we had read it three times in unbroken
succession. Add to this that in the lapse of
time we shall have forgotten most of the work,
and shall therefore approach it the second time
with greater interest than if it were still fresh
in mind ; that our experience, reading and think-
ing in the meantime will make us see every sen-
tence in a different light, enabling us to judge
our own marginal criticisms (if we have made
any) as well as the book, and the advantage of
waiting cannot be doubted. I do not believe it
will ever be necessary to read a book more than
twice, that is, so far as thought and knowledge
are concerned. With ' books read for their
THINKIKO AS A SCIENCE 183
style or for mere anmsement the case is differ-
ent.
How long should one read at a sitting 1 Some
men find that their thought is choked by read-
ing. Some find it stimulated. But results vary
according to the length of time reading is car-
ried on. Beading for very long periods at a
stretch often deadens original thought. The
writer finds that he nearly always derives benefit
from reading for short periods, say ten or fif^
teen minutes. This is in some measure due \o
the increased concentration which short periods
allow. On the other hand, some people find that
a certain momentum is acquired during long
reading periods. The reader can only experi-
ment to find how long a period best suits his in-
dividual case.
How about concentration 1 This has been con-
sidered in relation to independent thinking, but
in reading the problem is somewhat different.
In thinking our task is to choose relevant asso-
ciates. In reading the associates are chosen
for us. Our task is to stick to them, instead of
following the associates which occur to us either
from what we read or from sights and sounds
184 TfilNKINO AS A SOIENOE
about us. But associates which occur to us
from what we read are of two kinds : relevant
and irrelevant, and the former should of course
be followed out. This however should be done
deliberately, in the manner I have previously in-
dicated, and when the vein of suggested thought
has been exhausted we should bring attention
back to our book. The problem of concentra-
tion is not a very serious one in reading. It
may sometimes be difficult to concentrate on a
book. But it is infinitely easier than concen-
trating on a problem by unaided independent
thought.
The plan of reading I have laid out is merely
suggestive. What I chiefly wanted to show was
that all books cannot be treated alike, that we
cannot lay down dogmatic inflexible rules to
apply to every volume. Our method of reading
will vary with the nature of a book or of the sub-
ject it treats. It will depend upon the books we
have already read and even upon the books we
contemplate reading later.
The good you get out of reading will depend
entirely on how you allow it to affect you. If
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 185
every book you read suggests more problems,
gives you worth-while questions and topics
to think about in spare moments, enriches your
intellectual life and stimulates your thought, it
is performing its proper function. But if you
read solely to answer problems you cannot an-
swer for yourself, if every time you are puzzled
about anything you run to a book to have it ex-
plained, and accept without question the ex-
planation there given ; in short, if you use your
reading to save yourself from thinking, you had
better stop reading altogether. Smoking is a
far less harmful form of dissipation.
I have not yet definitely indicated the ratio
which time given to reading should bear to time
devoted to thinking. I have avoided this be-
cause of the many factors to be taken into ac-
count. But if the reader happens to have a
spare hour to devote to the improvement of his
mind, he will not go very far wrong if he gives
thirty minutes to reading and thirty minutes to
thinking. His thinking may be on the subject
he has read, or part of it may be on other prob-
lems. That is not so important. But the
reader must not imagine that his thinking need
186 THmKINO AS A SCIENCE
be restricted to these thirty miimtes or any other
thirty mimites. The glorious advantage of
thinking is that it can be fitted in at any odd mo-
ment. The entire apparatus for carrying it on
is always with you. You do not even need a
book for it. I remind the reader of this at the
risk of repeating myself.
It was pointed out at the beginning of this
chapter that the reading of any book is not an
end in itself, but should be subordinated to the
larger end of obtaining the best from reading in
general. But for the sake of clearness our end
was temporarily considered as the mastery of
some particular subject I indicated a plan
of reading to best serve that end. I also prom-
ised that needful qualifications would come
later.
In stating the law of diminishing returns it
was pointed out that it applied to whole sub-
jects as well as to books, that **past a certain
point every book we read on a subject, while it
will probably add to our knowledge, will not
yield as much return as a book of equal merit on
another subject new to us."
THINKING AS A SOIENOE 187
While this is true it applies to but a small ex-
tent when subjects are read by the method just
outlined, for while we do not get as much out
of any book as we would out of one of equal
merit on another subject, we read it so much
faster that the return per time and energy ex-
pended is practically as great. This fast read-
ing is made possible by our previous knowledge
on the old subject. If the book on the new sub-
ject were read in the same manner, we might get
little or nothing from it.
With this objection out of the way I suggest
that the reader get a specialty. Books read in
the ordinary unsystematic fashion, now on this
subject and now on that, leave little permanent
impression. Even if they do, we feel that
though our range of reading may be wide we
have at best but a smattering of many things.
In the final analysis a smattering of knowledge
is in most cases of no more use than total ignor-
ance. Better by far be ignorant of many things
and know one thing well, than know many things
badly.
Besides the utility of having a specialty is the
pleasure we derive. There is always an intense
188 THINKINO AS A SCIENOE
satisfaction in feeling that one is an *' expert/*
an *' authority*' in some subject. When some
Con^essman makes an inaccurate remark
which trespasses on your specialty you can
write a letter to the Times or the Sun explain-
ing the error of his ways, and incidentally ex-
hibiting your own limitless erudition. When
your friends get into an argument on some ques-
tion within your chosen field they will remark,
**Ask John Jones. He ought to know.*' And
even when you have to confess abysmal ignor-
ance on some question outside of your domains,
you may still have the satisfaction of believing
that people are excusing you within themselves
with an **0h, well, but he knows a lot about
someology. * *
One writer estimates that *' fifteen minutes a
day or a half hour three days a week devoted to
one definite study will make one a master in that
field in a dozen years. **^ This statement
should interest those people who *' haven't the
time ' * to take up any specialty outside their own
business, but who spend at least half an hour
every day in newspaper or magazine reading —
6 Edward Griggs, Th§ Use of the Mwrgm.
THINKINO AS A SOIENOE 189
with nothing to show for it at the end of twenty
years.
Jnst what subject yon make your specialty I
am not at present concerned. It may be
aeronautics, astronomy, banking, Greek history,
differential calculus, social psychology, electric-
ity, music, philosophy of law, submarines, soap
manufacture, religion, metaphysics, sun-motors,
education, literary style or the moon. But
whatever it is, it ought to be a subject in which
you are interested for its own sake — ^which most
frequently means one which you do not make
your vocation. If you get tired of it, drop it
and take up something in which you are inter-
ested. Your thinking and study should be pur-
sued as a pleasure — ^not as a duty.
If your subject is a narrow one, if let us say
it is merely a branch of what is generally con-
sidered a science, you should first get a clear
idea of the broad outlines of the science before
taking the specialty up. Should you, for in-
stance, select the tariff, begin your study by us-
ing as your main text a book on general eco-
nomics.
Even if you make your specialty an entire
190 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
science yon wiU derive great help by reading
in other sciences. In ethics, for instance, a
knowledge of psychology, biology and sociology
will prove of surprising valne. This means
that for the sake of knowing the specialty it-
self, if for nothing else, you should not pursue
it exclusively. If ever you find yourself in dan-
ger of doing this it would be well to lay down
a rule that every third or fourth book you read
must be one which does not deal with the subject
you have chosen as your own.
VIII
WEITING ONE^S THOUGHTS
Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready
man, and writing an exact man. — Bacon.
ANY attempt to formulate a science or art
of thinking would not be complete with-
out at least some discussion of writing. Indeed
writing is so closely bound up with thinking that
I have been compelled to refer to it several times
in the discussion of thought and reading.
I have already spoken of writing as an aid to
concentration. I was wont to depreciate it on
account of its slowness. But this is practically
its only fault. Thoughts come to us when writ-
ing which we get in no other way. One is often
surprised, when reading something one has
written at a previous time, at some of the re-
marks made. We seem to have temporarily
grown wiser than ourselves.
But the great advantage of writing is that it
191
192 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
preserves thought. What printing has done for
humanity in preserving the knowledge of the
ages, writing will do for the individual in pre-
serving his own reflections.
When some thought has occurred to us we be-
lieve at the time we are thinking it that it is ours
forever. We cannot conceive that it shall ever
be forgotten. Perish that belief 1 I have some-
times had an idea occur to me (really!), and
have believed it absolutely new, at least so far
as I was concerned. But on looking over things
written before, I have found that I had had al-
most identically the same thought at another
time. Not only did I forget the idea ; I did not
even recognize it at its second appearance. To
be sure, in these cases the thoughts came a sec-
ond time. But thoughts are seldom so oblig-
ing.
Therefore when an idea occurs or when you
have solved a problem, even a problem sug-
gested by a book, you should immediately put
the idea or solution in writing. You may of
course wait until the end of the day. But the
safest way of capturing an idea is to write it
the minute after it flashes through your brain,
THZNKING AS A SCIENCE 193
or it may be lost forever. It was with this in
mind that in the chapter on reading I advised
immediately writing not only ideas but prob-
lems which occurred to one. The discovery of a
new problem is just as important and necessary
for intellectual advance as the solution of an old
one. If we do not write our problems we are
apt to forget they exist; we put ourselves in
danger of assuming without question some
proposition which is not true.
To facilitate the writing of your thoughts and
meditations I suggest a notebook kept specially
for that purpose. In addition to this you should
always carry about with you some blank paper
and a pencil, so as to be ever ready to jot down
anything. To write an idea does not of course
imply that you cannot later reject it, or change
it, or develop it further.
The elusiveness of thoughts is most strikingly
brought out when writing them down. When
we are writing a long sentence we have in mind
the exact words with which we are going to
finish it. But our attention is called for the
moment to the physical act of writing, and pres-
to! — ^the words are gone; we are compelled to
194 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
end our sentence in a different way. I have
mentioned the advantages of shorthand and
typewriting for keeping pace with thought. I
need merely repeat my advice to use these ac-
quirements if you have them. Thoughts, I
must repeat, are fleeting. No device for trap-
ping them should be despised.
Not least among the advantages of a note-
book in which to write thoughts is the permanent
historical record it gives. Every thought we
write should be dated, day, month and year,
like a letter. When we come to read over ideas
jotted down from time to time in this man-
ner, we shall see before us an intellectual
autobiography. We shall see how our recent
thoughts compare with those written sometime
ago. We shall see just what our opinions were
at certain times, and how they have changed.
And we shall see whether our mental progress
has been marked, or whether we have been stand-
ing still.
It may be considered absurd to suggest that
every thought you write in your note-book be
put in the best style you can command. We are
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 195
wont to differentiate ''style'* and ''matter."
It is doubtful whether this distinction is quite
valid. It is doubtful whether we know just what
we mean when we make it. Indeed Arnold
Bennett goes so far as to say :
' ' Style cannot be distinguished from matter.
When a writer conceives an idea he conceives
it in the form of words. That form of words
constitutes his style, and it is absolutely gov-
erned by the idea. The idea can only exist in
words, it can only exist in one form of words.
You cannot say exactly the same thing in two
different ways. Slightly alter the expression,
and you slightly alter the idea. Surely it is
obvious that the expression cannot be altered
without altering the thing expressed! The
writer, having conceived and expressed an idea,
may, and probably will, 'polish it up.' But
what does he polish up ? To say that he. pol-
i'shes up his style is merely to say that he pol-
ishes up his idea, that he has discovered faults
and imperfections in his idea, and is perfecting
it. The idea exists in proportion as it is ex-
pressed ; it exists when it is expressed, and not
196 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
before. It expresses itself. A dear idea is ex-
pressed clearly and a vague idea vaguely. * * ^
Mr. Bennett, I suspect, is a victim of exagger-
ation. But this much is true: Thought and
style are mutually dependent to a far greater
degree than is generally supposed. Not only
will an improvement in a thought improve its
wording; an improvement in wording wiU im-
prove the thought.
Now as to the application of this. I have re-
ferred to the occurrence in reading of ** inar-
ticulate ' * objections. The sole reason these are
inarticulate is because the objection is too vague
even to find expression. In a case like this we
should word our objection the best we can, no
matter how ridiculous or indefensible it at first
sounds. But we should word it in as many ways
as possible; we should say it in all different
sorts of ways ; we should write it in every dif-
ferent kind of way. Gradually our objection
will become definite, clear, forceful. In short,
we shall not only have improved our way of
stating our thought ; we shall have improved the
thought itself. To study clearness of statement
^Literary Taste,
TBINKINO AS A SCIENCE 197
or acquisition of vocabulary is to study means of
improving thought. Your notebook should not
be used solely for the entry of ' thoughts '^ as
such, but any striking way of wording a thought
which occurs to you should likewise be immedi-
ately written.
But while there is some truth in Arnold Ben-
nett ^s statement that the wording is the thought,
from another point of view its very opposite is
true. The wording is never the thought.
Strictly speaking, ** thought*' is something
which can exist only in the mind. It can never
be transferred to paper. What then is it that
we write! If words and sentences are not
thought, what are they f If they are not thought
how is it possible to transfer thought through
the medium of writing?
The fact is that words, though they are not
thought, are the associates of thought. You
hear the word ** horse.'* Very likely the visual
image of a horse arises in mind. This image,
idea, notion, ** concept,** will depend on your ex-
perience of particular horses. It will never be
a logical abstract of these. It will never be a
horse without color, particular size, sex or
198 THINKINO AS A SCIENCE
breed, as is sometimes thought. It may how-
ever have different elements in it from different
horses yon have seen. It may be the image of
just one particular horse you remember. But
no such thing as a general concept exists in the
mind. We have a particular image which stands
for all horses. The name of course is gen-
eral. It— or its definition — ^may be called the
logical concept. But the name itself is not used
in thought. It is an arbitrary symbol which
serves merely to arouse a particular image asso-
ciated with it, and this image is dealt with as if
general. This image we shall call the concept.
It is the working concept: the psychological as
opposed to the logical concept.
As your concept of a horse will depend on
your experience of particular horses, another
person's concept will depend on his experience
of that animal. And as his experience can
never be exactly the same as yours, his concept,
though it may be similar to yours, will not be
the same. Not only wUl no one else have the
same mental image or concept as you hut you
yourself will never have exactly the same image
twice. This image will vary with the setting in
THINEINa AS A SOIENOE 199
which it occurs — ^with the associates which hap-
pen to arouse it. If you are reading about a
great battle and the word ** horse** is mentioned,
a certain kind of horse will suggest itself to you.
If you are reading about a grocery wagon and
see the word ''horse** another kind will suggest
itself. This whether the animal is described by
adjectives or not. At one time you may think
of the horse as in motion, at another time as at
rest.
Unfortunately many so-called psychologists
seem to consider the concept, even this image-
concept, as something fixed in the individual, or
at best as only changing with actual experience
of the thing conceived. The truth is that the
image or images aroused on hearing any word
are not the same for two seconds at a time.
They are fluid, dynamic ; never static, immobile.
They are associates of the words in a constant
state of flux.2 When the concept of one indi-
vidual varies from one moment to the next, how
2 The most advanced and severe psychologists may object
to some statements in this exposition. I admit that a word
may be used as the concept, Imt only provided it is accom-
panied by a "frinff^* of potential associates. I also admit
that in order to be dealt with as if general, the visual image
200 THINKINO A8 A 80IEN0E
must the concepts of different individuals differ
from each other I
I have instanced the idea of a horse because it
is so simple and concrete. In actual thinking
we never meet with a simple separated concept
or with a single word ; we deal with at least an
entire sentence. This means that our images
vary even more widely at different times than
was the case in the example. It means that the
images of other people are at a correspondingly
greater variance from ours.
As to the application of all this to writing.
We have an idea; thinking it important we de-
cide to jot it down. Now we cannot jot down
the idea, but only words associated with it. We
cannot even write all the words associated with
it, for there are too many. So we write a com-
parative few ; and we say we have written the
idea. But all we have really written is some-
thing associated with the idea. When we read
this over at a later time we shall not have
the same ideas aroused as were in mind origi-
must be acoompanied by such a "fringe." But I do insist
that this fringe itself is in a constant state of flux. That is
the important point for our present purposes.
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 201
nally, but at best only similar ideas. For the
associates of words, like all associates, are con-
stantly changing; and thanks to the frailties of
human memory exactly the same associates are
never aroused twice. So after a long interval
they will be much different than at the time we
wrote. The reader will often have the expe-
rience of '* writing a thought** and thinking it
very important, but on reading it at another
time he will fail to see why he ever considered
it worth putting on paper. The truth is that
at the time he wrote the idea it probably was
important, because he had the right concepts.
But when he came back to the words he had
written they failed to re-suggest the former con-
cepts and associates.
This difference between words and thought is
even more strikingly brought out when the writ-
ten thought is read by some other person than
the writer. The writer is likely at least to have
approximately the same concepts as at the time
of writing. And he is greatly aided by his mem-
ory in recalling the concepts and associated
ideas previously in mind, the words suggesting
these. But when a person reads what some one
202 THINKINO AS A SOIENOE
else has written, he translates the words into
the concepts previously connected with them in
his own mind. Thus an author can never liter-
ally transfer an idea. He can merely put down
certain arbitrary symbols, which will serve to
arouse a similar thought in his readers. How
greatly the reader's thought differs from the au-
thor's it is difficult if not impossible to deter-
mine, for minds can only communicate by words.
It is this difference in associated concept which
often makes a reader fail to appreciate the pro-
f oundest thoughts of an author, and even, on the
other hand, occasionally to see depth where it
does not exist.
We come now to the solution of the problem
to which this rather extended discussion has
been preparatory. How is an author to convey,
as nearly as possible, his actual idea? And the
answer is: he should word it in as many dif-
ferent ways as possible.
If a person had never been to a city and you
wanted to give him an idea of it, you would
show him photographs taken from different
viewpoints. One photograph would correct and
supplement the oth3r. And the more photo-
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 203
graphic viewpoints he saw the more complete
and accurate would be his idea — the more his
concept would approximate the actual city. But
he could never more than approximate ; he could
never obtain the idea of a man who had visited
that city.
An author ^s language is a photograph of his
thought. He can never actually transfer an
idea, but by wording it in different ways he can
show different photographs of it.
If, for example, a second wording does not
conform with the first concept which a reader
has formed, the reader will be obliged to modify
that concept. And if the idea is repeated in a
number of different ways he will have to modify
his concept so much that he will gradually more
and more approximate the idea of the author.
I remember the story in some educational
treatise of an inspector who entered a school
room, asked the teacher what she had been giv-
ing her class, and finally took up a book and
asked the following question, **If you were to
dig a hole thousands and thousands of feet deep,
would it be cooler near the bottom or near the
top, and whyT*^ Not a child answered.
204 THINKINa AS A SOIENOE
Finally the teacher said, "I'm sure they know
the answer but I don't think you put the ques-
tion in the right way. ' ' So taking the book she
asked, **In what state is the center of the
eartht^' Immediately came the reply from the
whole class in chorus, * * The center of the earth
is in a state of igneous fusion.^ ^ . . .
There is, and has been for the past generation,
a great cry in educational circles that we should
teach things, not words. In some instances this
is inadvisable, even impracticable. But if the
teacher in the foregoing story had taken the
trouble to word her idea in at least more than
one way, she might have implanted a real idea in
her pupils. She would at least have found that
as it was they had none.
One more question remains. If you are writ-
ing a composition, a letter, an essay, or even
a book, what is the best way to get down all
your thoughts, without losing any of value; to
get them down in the best order and in the best
style T In other words what is the path of great-
est efficiency in transferring thoughts from your
mind to paper?
TEINEINa AS A SOIENOE 205
We hBve already considered such devices as
shorthaad. Of course dictation, where it is pos-
sible, is an obvious advantage. But I mean
here to consider the aspects of the problem
which apply more especially to compositions of
some length.
It is related of Auguste Comte that he com-
posed his books by thinking them over down to
the minutest details, down to the very phrase-
ology of the sentences, before penning a single
word, but that when he came to writing he could
turn out an astounding amount of work in a
given time. Unless a person have a remarkable
memory, however, he will forget most of what
he has thought by the time he comes to writing
it. Comte *s method might nevertheless be
profitably applied to short sections of composi-
tions. And where conciseness or perspicuity
are desired, it will often be found useful to think
out an entire sentence before writing a word
of it.
Perhaps the best way of ensuring eflSciency in
writing is by the card system. This consists in
writing on a separate card every valuable idea
that occurs to you, immediately after it occurs.
206 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
When you finally come to writing yon can ar-
range these cards in any order desired, throw-
ing out the ideas you no longer consider impor-
tant, and adding those which are necessary to
complete or round out the work.
IX
THINGS WOETH THINKING ABOUT
THe man vho cannot wonder, who does not habit-
ually wonder, is bat a pair of spectacles behind which
there is no eye. — CAHLYLiB.
UP to now I have treated exclusively of how
to think, but have made no mention of
what to think. I have treated of the best meth-
ods of dealing with different subjects and ques-
tions; I have not considered what subjects or
problems are most worth dealing with.
Of course the important thing is that you
do think. It is not absolutely essential that the
' results of your thinking are results which can ,
be directly made use of. Thinking is an end
in itself. Most men imagine that * * thinking for
the sake of thinMng^^ may appeal to philos-
ophers, but means nothing to them, as they like
to think only when by so doing they can for-
ward some practical end. These people do
themselves an injustice.
207
208 THINKIKa AS A SCIENOE
Perhaps yon, reader, are among them. If
80, let me appeal to your personal experience.
Have yon ever tried to solve a toy puzzle, tried
to take the two wire hooks apart without bend-
ing themt Or have yon ever stopped to tackle
a problem on the fanuly page of yonr evening
or Sunday newspaper t "A grocer buys fifteen
dozen eggs, he sella — " you know what I mean.
Yon admit that yoo have. Exactly. Ton have
been thinking for the mere sake of thinking.
If yon protest that yon didn't care about the
thinking, that yoa took no pleasure in the think-
ing, which was merely incidental, but that
what really urged you on and gave you pleas-
ure was the solution of the puzzle, yon are
again deceiving yourself. The thinking was not
incidental. Thinking and problem solving are
identical. The fact is that you set yourself to
solving a problem, to removing a mental hin-
drance, for the mere sake of getting the answer,
with absolutely no thought of what you were go-
ing to do with the answer when you got it.
But if you can derive so much pleasure from
thinking which you cannot put to use, how much
greater should be your pleasure when your con-
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 209
elusions can be utilized? For when you think
of something useful, you have not only the pres-
ent pleasure of solving your problem, but the
ulterior pleasure of applying your solution to
action, or to the solution of some further prob-
lem. And while I again admit that thinking is
an end in itself, this does not prevent it from
being at the same time a means to some further
end After all is said there is really no reason
why we should be prejudiced against problems
or subjects that are useful.
The mere decision that we should think of
useful questions is insufficient. Very few ques-
tions are without some use. Even the solution
of the family page puzzle might some day be
useful in solving a similar problem arising in
your own business ; and even if this never came
to pass you might spring the puzzle on your
friends, and make yourself socially more inter-
esting. Thought given to a question in a de-
bating book now before me, ^'Eesolved, that
Ferocious Wild Beasts are more to be dreaded
than Venomous Reptiles,*' might result in
knowledge which would come handy in select-
ing equipment if one decided to journey to the
210 THINKINa AS A SODSNOE
wilderness of South America. But there are
millions of problems of as much use as these ;
and it is not within the power of one lone mor-
tal, of years three score and ten, to compass
even a comer of them. Our question is not —
what problems are of useT, but — of how much
use are certain problems T, or stated in another
way, — ^what is the relative utility of problems?
Any adequate consideration of this question
would involve the selection of some criterion for
utility, and the testing of individual problems
by that criterion. But to treat such a question
with anything like justice is beyond the scope of
this book; it would require almost a volume in
itself. It is almost the same as the problem.
What knowledge is of most worth T, and the most
masterly treatise on that question which has
ever been written can be found in Herbert Spen-
cer *s epoch-making little work, Education. I
sincerely hope that the reader study this. But
I hope even more earnestly that before he does
so he first think the problem out independently,
for it is one of the most important he can put
before himself.
But our present question — ^that of the relative
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 211
importance of problems — is slightly different
from that of the relative importance of knowl-
edge. The first deals with thought and the
second with information, or the materials of
thought; the first with a process of getting
knowledge and the second with knowledge itself.
I believe for example that a knowledge of his
own body and of the laws of health is the most
valuable a man can have, but there are few
problems concerning the body which I would in-
clude in the first rank. There are several rea-
sons for this. In the first place, while it may
be true that such questions taken as a whole
are more important than any other class of
questions, taken separately they are relatively
minor ; there are no one or two questions of all-
encompassing importance to which all the others
are subsidiary. Moreover, such questions,
while they undoubtedly require thought for their
solution, depend to a relatively great extent on
observation and experiment No sane medical
student would sit down and follow out a lengthy
course of reasoning as to where the heart is;
he would merely observe or dissect, or consult
the book of a man who had dissected, and save
212 THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E
mental fatigue. Not least of all, questions of
physiology require extensive, highly technical
and detailed information — ^information which
requires years of special study to acquire — be-
fore any thinking that is at all safe can be put
upon them. So in estimating the relative value
of problems, there are other considerations be-
sides the value of knowledge.
But it is not my purpose here to discuss the
general principles upon which the selection of
worth-while questions should be made. That
task I leave to the reader. I have chosen rather
the concrete path of suggesting a list of ques-
tions which I consider of great import. I be-
lieve that no matter how much thought the
reader gives to any one of them he will not be
losing his time.
I have elsewhere pointed out that the more
knowledge a man has the more problems he will
have. It is equally true that unless a man has
some knowledge on a subject he will not be able
to appreciate or even understand some of its
most important problems. It is only when we
begin to think of subjects that we discover prob-
lems and realize their significance. In stating
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 213
most of the following problems, therefore, I
have often thought it necessary to add a few
sentences in explanation, and have sometimes
stated a question in a variety of forms in order
to more clearly convey the thought.
Are specific characteristics, acquired during
the lifetime of a/n individual, inherited by his
offspring? I have referred so often to this
problem and its importance that further ex-
planation is hardly necessary. ^ * Characteris-
tics'' of course refer to intellectual and moral
as well as physical characteristics.
What is the influence of the individual mind
on society and of social environment on the in-
dividual?
Does the form of government determine the
character of a people, or does the character of a
people determine their form of government?
Or do government and character react on each
other, and howT The same question may be
asked of all other social institutions. Does
the religion of a people determine their charac-
ter, or does the character of a people determine
their religion? This whole problem is some-
214 THINEINa A8 A SOIENOE
what sinular to that immediately preceding, re-
garding the interaction of the individual and the
social mind.
Is society for the benefit of the individual or
is the individual for the benefit of society?
Should the jurisdiction of the government be
extended or curtailed? Or should it be ex-
tended in some directions and curtailed in oth-
ers? Does the answer to this problem depend
on the answer to the previous onet Another
form of the same problem is: What is the
proper sphere of government?
Should the government grant monopolies?
Patents, for example?
What would be the most practicable plan for
abolishing or minimizing war? Those who do
not wish to beg the previous question may first
ask whether it is always desirable to prevent
war, whether war is always an evil. What is
the effect of war on the physical future of the
race? on national and individual character? on
government? on national liberty? on personal
liberty? What are the ethics of war? for ag-
gression? for territorial conquest? for ** national
honor*'? for defense of a weaker nation? for de-
THINKING AS A 80IEN0E 215
fense against invasion! What is the effect of
preparedness! of universal preparedness! of
preparedness of an individual nation! In each
case what are the principles on which the extent
of preparedness should be determined! What
are the fundamental causes of war! How can
they be removed! Is it possible to remove all of
them!
Which is the rightful owner of land, the com-
munity or the individual? To state the problem
in another form: Should private land owner-
ship be abolished!
Who should be entitled to vote? This of
course is a question similar to woman suffrage,
but it is much broader. It deals not only with
the qualification of sex, but of age. Should any
one under twenty-one have the vote! The var
lidity of property and educational qualifications
should also be considered.
How should the relations of the sexes he regu-
lated? Put in slightly narrower and perhaps
less objectionable form: What would be just
laws governing marriage and divorce!
What is the effect of attempted State inter-
ference with the law of supply and dema/nd?
216 THINEINa A8 A SOIENOE
Does the unrestricted working out of this law
forward ultimate justice ? Just what is the va-
lidity and the meaning of the expression *^The
law of supply and demand**? The question
could be taken up in connection with Tniuimum
wage laws, railroad rate regulations, ^^ extra
crew** laws, etc.
Which is the best policy: free trade, revenite
tariff, or protective tariff f Or under what con-
ditions is each best? With what classes of com-
modities f
What would be an eqmtable and sound cur-
ren^y system? This question is somewhat
technical, and would have to be considered in
the form of a number of subsidiary problems.
Ought money to have an intrinsic value t What
is the effect of **fiat'* paper currency on money
of intrinsic value and on prices ? The effect of
credit t The effect of fluctuations in the supply
of gold? Ought there be a double standard or
a multiple standard I etc.
Should conduct he judged hy the pleasure or
happiness it yields? Stated in another form, al-
most a different problem: Is utility a good
moral guide?
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 217
Should conduct be judged by its tendency to
produce individual well-being, or should it be
judged by its tendency to produce the well-being
of all humanity, or of all sentient beings f This
problem cannot be lightly dismissed in favor
of universal well-being. This becomes apparent
when we attempt to give an undogmatic and
non-question-begging answer to the query:
Why should a man act for the benefit of oth-
ers!
No science is more provocative of thought
than ethics. The question of whether acts
should be declared good or bad as they tend to
produce pleasure or happiness, either individual
or in humanity as a whole, or whether ** vir-
tue" or *^ morality" is an end in itself, is one
of the most subtle and elusive we can attempt
to solve; no matter which answer we give we
are brought into logical and psychological di-
lemmas from which it seems impossible to es-
cape. This is also true of the problem of
whether our knowledge of what constitutes right
and wrong comes from experience or from in-
tuition.
The broadest form of the ethical problem,
218 THINKING A8 A SOIENOE
which includes the two preceding itaUcized prob-
lems, is :
What is the proper criterion for determining
right and wrong conduct? Or even less dog-
matic: Can there be a criterion for determin-
ing right and wrong conduct, and what is itf
Somewhat allied with the ethical problem is
that problem of problems : how to live t By this
is meant how to put the most into life and get
the most out of it ; what vocation to follow ; what
hobbies, amusements, avocations to take up;
how to plan time by months, by weeks, by days,
by hours. How much time and energy do cer-
tain activities deserve? How much can we af-
ford to give them? Bestated: what activities
are of most worth?
Of course every one does think of problems
connected with the art of living. But he thinks
of them as little unconnected questions. Barely
indeed does any one go about the solution of
the general problem of living in an orderly,
systematic manner. To insist upon the broad
practical bearings of the problem would be un-
necessary, absurd. By its very nature it is the
most ** practical'' question we can ask. Any
THINKING A8 A SOIENOE 219
particular solution or treatment may be imprac-
tical, but this does not affect the question itself.
What are the respective influences of environ-
ment {education, experience, etc.) and innate
tendencies in determining character? Which is
the greater determinant ?
Does pleasure depend upon the satisfaction
of instinctive desires, or do desires for certain
activities depend upon the pleasure accompany-
ing the previous performance of su^h activi-
ties f Does an activity or the possession of an
object give us pleasure because we have pre-
viously desired it, or do we desire an activity
or an object because we have previously ob-
tained pleasure from it! Or do pleasure and
desire interact, and just how? The solution of
this psychological problem is of tremendous im-
portance in ethics.
Does the mind depend entirely on the brain?
That is,* are all thoughts, emotions, feelings,
due to material changes in the brain? The an-
swer we give to this problem may determine our
answer to the question of immortality.
What knowledge is of most worth? I have
so fully discussed the importance of this ques-
220 THINKINa A8 A 8CIEN0E
tion and the method of proceeding with its solu-
tion that further explanation is needless.
One sphere of thought where the thinker is
compelled to be original ; where it is practically
impossible for him to fall into beaten tracks, is
invention. But there is useless as well as use-
ful invention. A man's ambition may range
all the way from inventing a machine to harness
directly the limitless power of the sun, down
to devising a tenacious tip for shoelaces. But
he should be careful about inventing something
already patented. He should be even more
careful to avoid inventing something for which
there is no demand. One of Edison's first
patents was for a machine to register quickly
the votes of legislative assemblies. And it
worked. But the legislative assemblies didn't
want it, because they didn't want their votes
quickly registered. That would have ended
good old filibuster methods. Another invention
of great uselessness which has been several
times attempted is a machine to write words just
like the human hand writes them. There are
really so many useful things which do not exist
and for which there is a demand, that it seems
THINKING A8 A 80IEN0E 221
quite a pity nine out of ten patents in the files
at Washington are for things inutile. If the
would-be inventor cannot himself think of some-
thing really needed, almost any big patent at-
torney house will send him an entire book of
suggestions on * * What to Invent. ' '
Invention usually requires highly technical
knowledge, not to speak of facilities for experi-
ment and a well-supplied purse. But nothing
gives more solid satisfaction to its creator than
a successful appliance. While the conscientious
philosopher is constantly harassed by doubts as
to whether, after all, he has discovered truth;
the inventor need not worry. His machine
either works or it does not work, and he knows
the truth of his thought thereby. On the other
hand the philosopher will always have some
thoughts. Be they true or not they may at least
be interesting and worth recording, whereas the
inventor may toil on for years and years with
absolutely nothing to show for his exertion at
the end. . . .
There are a number of problems that are not
of great ** practical '^ importance, but whose
theoretic value is so transcendent as to compel
222 THINEINa AS A 80IEN0E
attention. Among these are certain problems in
psychology, but more especially in metaphysics,
philosophy and even reUgion, insofar as reUgion
can be said to have problems.
Is there a God a/nd is it possible for man to
learn anything of His nature? Some readers
may object to the first part of this question.
But I state it because I am anxious to avoid
dogmatism.
Is the soul immortal? What do we mean by
the soult Does science disprove the life after
death?
What is the test of truth? How shall we
know truth when we have it t What after all is
^'truth'M
Are our wills free, or are our actions prede-
termined? Some may object to this way of
stating the question. Much confusion exists as
to the meaning of the problem. A different way
of stating it would lead to different treatment.
What is the ^^will^'t What do we mean by
^'free^V? What do we mean by ** predeter-
mined'^?
The problem of existence. How did the uni-
verse come into being? This is the last prob-
THINKING AS A 8CIEN0E 223
lem in which interest can be stimulated from
without. No matter in how many different
ways he phrases it, a writer cannot convey this
sense of mystery to another. It must arise from
within. Most of the time we accept, we take for
granted, the universe and the existent order of
things, and it requires the greatest effort to keep
alive our mystification and doubt for even short
periods.
The list of questions foregoing is of course
merely suggestive. It is impossible to select,
say twenty-five questions, and pronounce them
the twenty-five most important that can be
asked. I fully realize there are questions of
greater importance than some I have pro-
pounded. But I have not gone so far as to ad-
vise that every one of these should be thought
over. The list has been given merely for
thought stimulation, and to indicate what is
meant by * * worth while ^ * questions.
Unfortunately I have not been able to explain
why most of these are so important. To have
done so would have required too much time for
each individual problem. It would have drawn
224 THINKINa AS A SOIENOE
us too far out of our subject. The reader must
find out or sense the importance for himself.
Practically all of the problems given in the
list come under one of the sciences, especially if
we count metaphysics or philosophy as a science,
which it is in so far as it is organized knowl-
edge. This may seem somewhat narrow. Now
I admit there are important problems which are
not included in any science. But there are very
few. As soon as deep thought is given to a
problem its treatment becomes systematic. It
either falls into one of the sciences or a new
science evolves about it. John Stuart Mill once
started a journal in which he promised himself
to put one thought a day, but he did not permit
himself to record there any thought on a prob-
lem falling within one of the special sciences.
None of the thoughts he put in the journal is of
any great value. It came to an abrupt end in
about two months.
It may be objected that though the questions
selected are most important in themselves, there
are other things more worth thinking about, be-
cause of the mental discipline they yield. Now
putting aside the fact that questions important
THINEINO AS A SCIENCE 225
in themselves should be dealt with ultimately —
that mental discipline would be useless unless
applied to important problems — ^I must voice my
suspicion that the most useful questions are also
the best for training the mind. It may be true
that punching the bag will help a prizefighter in
boxing. But other things equal, a man who has
spent one week in actual boxing is better pre-
pared to enter the prize ring than one who has
devoted a month to bag punching. The best
practice for boxing is boxing. The best prac-
tice for solving important questions is solving
important questions.
Nor do I admit the contention is valid that
one problem rather than another should be
thought of because it is * ' deeper. ' ' We cannot
truthfully say that psychology is a ** deeper'^
science than ethics, or that metaphysics is deeper
than psychology, or vice versa. Most subjects
and most problems are just as deep as we care
to make them. Their depth depends entirely on
how deep we go into them. This applies espe-
cially to the so-called philosophical sciences.
We may give them shallow treatment or we may
give them profound treatmentc But we shall
226 THINKINa A8 A 80IEN0E
usually find that the deepest questions are the
most important questions. For the most im-
portant questions have generally attracted the
greatest minds; consequently they have been
given the deepest treatment; and when a man
reads the attempted solutions of these great
minds his thoughts tend toward this deeper
plane. Of course certain problems, especially
in mathematics, can be dealt with by only one
method. In this case we may properly speak
of some problems being objectively deeper or at
least more difficult than others.
Some objections may be offered to several of
the questions in my list, on the ground that they
are invalid. Such problems as the immortality
of the sotd and the problem of existence may be
declared inscrutable, unsolvable. Such a prob-
lem as **Is society for the benefit of the indi-
vidual or is the individual for the benefit of so-
ciety f may be said to imply that society is
something which has been voluntarily formed
like the State. It may be declared that this is
not the case; it may be objected that this ques-
tion is meaningless. All these objections may
be justified. But their truth cannot be deter-
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 227
mined until we actually attempt a solution.
The determination of the validity of a problem
is part of the problem.
We come now to the question of what is most
worth reading. The simplest answer is that
that is most worth reading which is most worth
thinking about, and therefore we should read
those books which deal with such problems as I
have indicated. But this counsel needs to be
supplemented.
A conservative estimate places the number of
books in the world at 4,500,000. (This estimate
was made before the war broke out, and the
war-books by now have doubtless brought the
number to 5,000,000.) This does not mean
books as collections of printed sheets of paper
bound together — ^books as physical objects — for
if it did the number would be inmiensely
greater. It means 4,500,000 (or more) separate
and distinct treatises. If you were to read one
book every two weeks, you would read about
twenty-five a year, and if you read for fifty
years you would cover 1,250. One book in every
three thousand six hundred I (3,600 !)
228 THINKINO A8 A SOIENOE
From this it is apparent that even the most
omnivorous reader, even the reader who can
cover a book swiftly by eflScient skipping, will
at least have to ask himself before beginning a
volume, **Is this a book in a thousand? Can I
afford to read this at the cost of missing nine
hundred and ninety-nine others?'^ And most
men who ask this question will have to substi-
tute the number five thousand, or even ten thou-
sand.
Nine-tenths of our reading is on mere chance
recommendation, passing whim or by sheer ac-
cident. We catch sight of a book on a library
table. Having nothing better to do we pick it
up; we start perusing it. Every book read in
this way means a sinful waste of time. To be
sure, a book read in this chance manner might
(accidentally) be very good — even better than
some you would have planned for ; but this will
happen seldom, and is never a justification of
the practice. By going a round about way to
a place a man might stumble across a lost pock-
etbook, but this would not justify taking round
about ways.
The first thing needed, then, is that we should
THINKING AS A 80IEN0E 229
plan our reading. Perhaps the best way to do
this would be to make out a list of the books we
intend to read for the coming year, or say a list
of from a dozen to twenty-five volumes, and
then read them in the order listed. Another
good plan is to jot down the title of every book
we intend to read, and keep the list about with
us. Then when we meet with a book which we
think would be good to read, or which we feel
we simply must read, we can before starting it
glance at our list. The formidable array we
find there will probably induce us either to give
up entirely our intention to read the book be-
fore us, or at least to put it somewhere on the
list which will allow more important books to
be read first.
Some people cannot endure planning their
reading in this manner. It grates on them to
think they are tied down to any sort of pro-
gram; it seems to deprive them of the advan-
tages of spontaneous interest. Well, if you can-
not plan your reading prospectively, at least
plan it retrospectively. If you cannot keep a
list of books you intend to read, at least keep a
list of books you have read. Refer to this from
230 THZNEma AS A 80IEN0E
time to time. See whether you have been read-
ing uniformly good literature. See whether you
have been reading too much on one topic and not
enough on another, and what topics you have
been long neglecting. But at best this method
is a poor substitute for planning your reading
prospectively.
We should plan not only with regard to topics
and subjectSi but with regard to authors. Ob-
viously if two men of equal ability both study
the same subject, one will get more out of his
study than the other if he reads authors who
treat the subject on a deeper plane — provided of
course he understands them.
Whether consciously or not, we tend to imi-
tate the authors we read. If we read shallow
books we are forced, while reading them, to do
shallow thinking. Our plane of thought tends
toward the plane of thought of the authors we
study; we acquire either habits of careful crit-
ical thinking, or of dogmatic lack of thinking.
This emphasizes the importance of reading
the best books, and only the best books. Our
plane of thinking is determined not alone by
the good books we read, but by all the books
THINKING AS A 80IEN0E 231
we read; it tends toward the average. Most
men imagine that when they read a good book
they get a certain amount of good out of it, and
that this good will stay with them undiminished.
Provided they read a certain number of serious
books, they see no reason why they should not
read any number of superficial or useless books,
or any amount of ephemeral magazine or news-
paper literature. They expect the serious read-
ing to benefit them. They do not expect the
shallow reading to harm them. This is just as
if they were to buy and eat mmutritious and in-
digestible food, and excuse themselves on the
ground that they ate nourishing and digestible
food along with it.
The analogy may be carried further. As it is
the average of the physical food you digest
which ultimately determines the constitution of
your body, so it is the average of the mental
food you absorb which determines the constitu-
tion of your mind. One good meal will not off-
set a week of bad ones ; one good book will never
offset any number of poor books. Further, as
no one has a perfect memory, you do not retain
all you read any more than you retain all you
232 TUIMKING AS A 80IEN0E
eat. Therefore if you do not want your mind
to retrogress, you should not rest satisfied with
books already read, but should continue to read
books at least as good as any previous. As at
any given time your bodily health — so far as it
depends on food — is mainly determined by the
meals of the last few days or weeks, so is your
mental health dependent on the last few books
you have read.
One of the first things we should look to in
selecting books is their comprehensiveness.
To quote Arnold Bennett: ** Unless and until
a man has formed a scheme of knowledge, be it
but a mere skeleton, his reading must neces-
sarily be unphilosophical. He must have at-
tained to some notion of the interrelations of the
various branches of knowledge before he can
properly comprehend the branch of knowledge
in which he specializes. ' * ^ As an aid in form-
ing this scheme of knowledge, Mr. Bennett sug-
gests Herbert Spencer's First Principles. I
heartily endorse his choice. I would add to it
the essay on The Classification of the Sciences
by the same author.
i Literary Taste.
THINEmO AS A 8CIEN0E 233
These works are classics, and one of the most
regrettable of difficulties is that of getting peo-
ple to read the classics. Mention to a man Dar-
win's Origin of Species or Descent of Man, and
he will reply, ** Oh, yes, that's the theory that
says men descended from monkeys. ' * Satisfied
that he knows all there is to know about it, he
never reads any of Darwin's works. Now
passing over the fact that the theory does not
assert that man descended from monkeys and
never intended to assert it ; — ^what a compliment
to Darwin 's thought and brevity to assume that
all his books can be summed up in a phrase!
But Darwin is not the only sufferer. If we
come across the title of a classic often enough,
and hear a lot of talk ** about it and about" and
a few quotations from it, we gradually come to
believe we know all the contents worth know-
ing. This is why Shakespeare, and in fact most
of the classics, are so seldom actually read, and
why we go for our serious reading to a book on
**How to Read Character from Handwriting"
or to a sensational volume on prostitution by
one of our modem ** sociologists. " The only
way we can keep ourselves from such stuff is to
234 TMiNKma A8 ▲ BODBNOB
lay out some definite end, some big objective,
to be attained; and before reading a book we
should ask how that helps us to attain it.
I have not given a formal list of books worth
reading, nor do I intend to; one of the reasons
being that the work has been done so well
by others. Ever since Sir John Lubbock pub-
lished his list of one hundred best books, the
number of selections has been legion. Charles
Eliot's selection for his Five Foot Shdf is to
be commended, and a little volume by Frank
Parsons The World's Best Books. Of course
our purpose is special: — to find the best books
for making thinkers; but the remarks already
made should aid the reader suiBSciently in mak-
ing his own selection from these lists. As pre-
viously pointed out, if the reader is studying a
specialty he can usually find a fairly well se-
lected bibliography at the end of the article on
that specialty in any standard encyclopedia.
The reader probably sees dearly by now
that it is impossible to do his own thinking in
every case ; that if he is to have sound knowl-
edge on important questions he must have the
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 235
courage to be ignorant of many things. How
much trouble to go to in any particular case it
is difficult to say.
We can lay it down as a general principle that
questions of the highest importance, such as
those of which I have given a suggestive list —
questions which deal with facts known or easily
ascertainable, and which depend for their right
solution more on thinking than on anything
else — a man should solve for himself, and
should take the greatest caution in so doing.
On the other hand, questions of the highest im-
portance which depend for their solution mainly
on full and detailed knowledge of highly tech-
nical facts which lie outside of one's specialty,
should be dealt with by consulting authorities
and taking their word for it.
There still remains the great mass of ques-
tions which are relatively unimportant, but con-
tinually coming up in our daily life, the an-
swers to which greatly influence our conduct.
Time forbids us not only from thinking these
out for ourselves, but even from consulting an
authority — for the selection of an authority
often involves almost as much intellectual re-
236 THINKINa AS A 80IEN0E
sponsibility as self-thinking. The only thing
we can do is to accept the verdict of popular
opinion.
Custom^ convention and popular belief, no
matter how many times they have been over-
thrown, have fairly reliable foundations. Popu-
lar ideas, to be sure, are products of mere unor-
ganized experience. They are empirical; sel-
dom if ever scientific. But though they are
founded on experience which is unorganized,
they are founded on so much of it that they are
worthy of respect. Society could not long exist
if it persisted in acting on beliefs altogether
wrong, though it is safe to say that popular
ideas are never more than approximately right.
But unless and until you have either thoroughly
thought over a question for yourself or have
consulted an acknowledged and trustworthy au-
thority, it is best tentatively to accept and act
on common belief. To think and act differently,
merely for the sake of being different, is un-
profitable and dangerous, all questions of ethics
aside.
THINKING AS AN ART
I discovered, though unconsciously and insensibly,
that the pleasure of observing and reasoning was a
much higher one than that of skill and sport. — ^Dar-
win 's Autobiography.
TO know is one thing; to do another. To
know the science of thinking is not to pos-
sess the art of thinking. Yet I doubt not that
there are readers who having finished, would
deem it suflScient that they had the knowledge,
and would feel they had gotten all the good or
harm out of this book that there is in it. They
would put it aside. They would think no more
of it.
The trouble with these good people (unfor-
tunately I speak of the overwhelming majority)
is that they expect information to apply itself.
They expect that once they have learnt a thing
they will act according to their knowledge.
237
238 THINKma AS A 80IEN0E
This is the very last thing a normal human be-
ing does.
The only way we can ever get ourselves to
apply knowledge is to do so by what will at first
be a conscious effort. We shall have to devote
much attention to it. Old established custom
will have to be broken. We do not act according
to knowledge ; we act according to habit. Even
after we have decided, for instance, that we
ought to give a little independent thinking to a
subject before reading abou^ it, we shall very
likely continue to read books without previous
thought.
Some people may imagine that the reason we
do not practice what we learn is that we do not
remember what we learn. They are mistaken.
When learning (German, I had much difficulty in
knowing what prepositions required the geni-
tive, dative or accusative cases. I finally learnt
all of them alphabetically in their respective
groups, and could rattle them off at a rate which
would make most native Germans blush for
envy. The only trouble was that when I came
to an actual sentence requiring one of these
prepositions I continually forgot to apply my
THiNEINa AS A SCIENCE 239
knowledge. Some one would have to point an
error out to me before it would occur to me to
do so. Even then I would have to think long
before the proper case occurred.
But while it is not true that we fail to prac-
tice a thing merely because we fail to remember
it, it is true that if we do not practice we are
not very likely to remember it. The only way
we could remember would be by constant re-
reading, for knowledge unused tends to drop out
of mind. Knowledge used does not need to be
remembered; practice forms habits and habits
make memory unnecessary. The rule is noth-
ing; the application is everything.
Practice being the thing needful, it is essential
that we put aside a certain amount of time for
it. Unless you lay out a definite program, un-
less you put aside, say, one-half hour every day,
for pure downright independent thinking, you
will probably neglect to practice at all. One-
half hour out of every twenty-four seems little
enough. You may think you can fit it in with
no trouble. But no matter how shamelessly you
have been putting in your time, you have been
doing something with it. In order to get in
240 THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
your thirty minutes of thinking, you will have
to put aside something which has been habitually
taking up a half hour of your day. You cannot
expect simply to add thinking to your other ac-
tivities. Some other activity must be cut down
or cut out.^
You may think me quite lenient in advising
only one-half hour a day. You may even go so
far as to say that one-half hour a day is not
enough. Perhaps it isn't. But I am particu-
larly anxious to have some of the advice in this
book followed. And I greatly fear that if I ad-
vised more than a half hour most readers would
serenely neglect my advice altogether. After
you have been able for a month to devote at least
one-half hour a day to thinking, you may then,
if you choose, extend the time. But if you at-
tempt to do too much at once, you may find it so
inconvenient, if not impracticable, that you may
give up attempting altogether. Throughout
the book I have constantly kept in mind that I
wish my advice followed. I have therefore laid
down rules which may reasonably be adhered to
1 And consult Arnold Bennett's How to Live on 24 Hours
a Day,
THINKING AS A SCIENCE 241
by an average human, rules which do not require
a hardened asceticism to apply, and rules which
have occasionally been followed by the author
himself. In this last respect, I flatter myself,
the present differs from most books of advice.
Above all I urge the reader to avoid falling
into that habit so prevalent and at the same time
so detrimental to character : — acquiescing in ad-
vice and not following it. You should view
critically every sentence in this book. Wher-
ever you find any advice which you think need-
less, or which requires unnecessary sacrifice to
put into practice, or is wrong, you should so
mark it. And you should think out for your-
self what would be the best practice to follow.
But when you agree with any advice you see
here, you should make it your business to follow
it. The fact that part of the advice may be
wrong is no reason why you should not follow
the part that is right.
Most people honestly intend to follow advice,
and actually start to do it, but . . . They try
to practice everything at once. As a result they
end by practicing nothing. The secret of prac-
tice is to learn thoroughly one thing at a time.
242 THINKINO AS A 80IEN0E
As already stated, we act according to habit.
The only way to break an old habit or to form a
new one is to give our whole attention to the
process. The new action will soon require less
and less attention, nntil finally we shaU do it
automatically, without thought — ^in short, we
shall have formed another habit. This accom-
plished we can turn to stiU others.
As an example let us take the different
methods of looking at questions considered in
the second chapter. Most readers wiU glance
over these methods, and agree that they are very
helpful — ^and the next problem which perplexes
them will probably be solved by no method at
all, or will be looked at from one standpoint
only.
About the best, perhaps the only way by which
the reader could get himself to use habitually
every valuable method possible, would be to take
one of the methods, say the evolutionary, and
consciously apply it, or attempt to apply it, to
a whole list of problems. In this way he could
learn the possibilities and limits of that particu-
lar method. Again, he could take an individual
problem and consciously attempt to apply every
THINEXNG AS A 80IEN0E 243
possible method to its solution. He could con-
tinue such practice until he had so formed the
habit of using method that it would be employed
almost unconsciously. Concentration, method
in book reading, and all the other practices here
advocated should be learned in the same con-
scious, painstaking way, one thing at a time,
until thoroughly ingrained. It must be left to
the reader *s own ingenuity to devise the best
methods of acquiring each particular habit.
Of course it is possible to do a thing well —
it is possible to follow the rule for doing it —
without knowing the rule. If a man take a live
interest in a subject he will naturally tend to
look at it from a number of different viewpoints.
If he be eternally on the lookout for errors and
fallacies in his own thinking he will gradually
evolve a logic of his own. And this logic will
be concrete, not abstract; it will be something
built into, an integral part of, concrete thought,
and he will be constantly strengthening the
habit of using it. Compared with the logic of
the books it may be crude, but it will not consist
of mere rules, which can be recited but which
are seldom applied.
244 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
So with grammar. Instance the writer's ex-
perience with German. Few native Germans
could recite offhand what prepositions govern
the genitive, dative and accusative, even if they
knew what was meant by these terms. But they
would (most of them) use these cases correctly,
and without the least thought. The educated
Englishman or American flatters himself that
his correct speech is due to his study of gram-
mar. This is far from true. His speech is due
to unconscious imitation of the language of the
people with whom he comes into contact, and of
the books he reads. And needless to say, the
cultivated man comes into contact with other
cultivated men and with good literature ; the ig-
noramus does not.
Most of our thinking is influenced in this way.
The great thinkers of the past improved their
innate powers not by the study of rules for
thinking, but by reading the works of other great
thinkers, and unconsciously imitating their
habitual method and caution.
The fact to remember is that a rule is some-
thing that has been formulated after the thing
which it rules. It is merely an abstract of cur-
THINEINa AS A SCIENCE 245
rent practice or of good practice. Eules are
needful because they teach in little time what
would otherwise require much experience to
leam, or which we might never discover for our-
selves at all. They help us to leam things right
in the beginning; they prevent us from falling
into wrong habits. The trouble with unsupple-
mented imitation, conscious or unconscious, is
that we tend to imitate another's faults along
with his virtues. Eules enable us to distinguish,
especially if we have learned the reason for the
rules.
But practice and rules should not be compared
as if they were opposed. The true road is
plenty of practice with conscientious regard to
rule. It may be insisted that this has its limits ;
that there is a point beyond which a man cannot
improve himself. I admit that practice has its
limits. It may be true that there is a point be-
yond which a man cannot advance. But no-
body knows those limits and no one can say
when that point has come.
No two individuals profit in the same degree
by the same practice. With a given amount one
man will always improve faster than another.
246 THINKINa AS A SCIENCE
But the slower man may keep up with his more
speedy brother by more practice. I shall not
repeat here the fable of the hare and the tor-
toise. But any one who has discovered a flaw
in his mental make-up, any one who believes
that he cannot concentrate, or that his memory
is poor, and that therefore he can never become
a thinker, should find consolation in the words
of William James :
''Depend upon it, no one need be too much
cast down by the discovery of his deficiency in
any elementary faculty of the mind. . . . The
total mental eflSciency of a man is the resultant
of all his faculties. He is too complex a being
for any one of them to have the casting vote.
If any one of them do have the casting vote,
it is more likely to be the strength of his desire
and passion, the strength of the interest he takes
in what is proposed. Concentration, memory,
reasoning power, inventiveness, excellence of the
senses — all are subsidiary to this. No matter
how scatter-brained the type of a man^s succes-
sive fields of consciousness may be, if he really
care for a subject, he will return to it inces-
santly from his incessant wanderings, and first
THINEINa AS A SCIENOE 247
and last do more with it, and get more results
from it, than another person whose attention
may be more continuous during a given interval,
but whose passion for the subject is of a more
languid and less permanent sort. ' ' *
» Talks to Teachers,
XI
BOOKS ON THINKENG
THE reader who desires to study further
on the subject of thinking will find a wide
field before him — ^but he will have to search in
cosmopolitan quarters. While much has been
written on thinking, it has been in an incidental
manner, and has found its way into books writ-
ten mainly to illuminate other subjects. Among
the few books or essays devoted exclusively or
mainly to thinking may be mentioned: — John
Locke, The Conduct of the Understanding;
Isaac Watts, The Improvement of the Mind;
Arnold Bennett, Mental Efficiency; T. Sharper
Knowlson, The Art of Thinking; Arthur Scho-
penhauer, On Thinking for Oneself, in his Es-
says. The last is especially recommended. It
is only about a dozen pages long, and is the most
stimulating essay written on the subject. This,
together with John Locke's Conduct (which,
by the way, is also fairly short) may be consid-
248
THINKma AS A SCIENOE 249
ered the two ^^ classics'' in the meager literature
on thinking.
There is an extensive literature on the
psychology of reasoning, on the '* positive''
science of thinking. The best single work on
this subject is John Dewey's How We Think.
William James' chapter on Reasoning in his
Principles of Psychology might also be con-
sulted with profit. S. S. Colvin's, The Learn-
ing Process contains some interesting chapters
bearing on thought.
On method, the amount of literature is even
more imposing than that on the psychology of
reasoning. Probably the most thorough book is
Stanley Jevon's The Principles of Science,
though this, consisting of two volumes, will re-
quire quite some ambition to attack. A good
recent short work is J. A. Thomson, Introduc-
tion to Science. Herbert Spencer's short essay,
An Element in Method, in his Various Frag-
ments might also be mentioned. Of those works
treating method mainly from a corrective stand-
point, I have already mentioned Jevon's Ele-
mentary Lessons in Logic. The authoritative
and most comprehensive book on logic is still
250 THINKINO AS A SOIENOE
John Stuart Mill's great tome. Of course this
list of books on method, as well as that on the
psychology of reasoning, cannot pretend to be
more than merely suggestive. K the reader de-
sires an extensive bibliography in either of these
subjects he will probably find it in one of the
books mentioned.
On doubt and belief, William CUfford, The
Ethics of Belief, and William James, The Will
to Believe, might be read. The viewpoints of
the two essays are in almost direct contradic-
tion.
On reading, Alexander Bain's The Art of
Study, in his Practical Essays, will be found
useful. Bacon's essay On Studies, which is not
more than a couple pages long, contains more
concentrated wisdom on the subject than is to
be found anywhere.
On subjects most worth thinking about, the
reader cannot do better than read Herbert Spen-
cer 's essay What Knowledge is of Most Worth?
in his Education. As to books most worth read-
ing, consult the lists of John Morley, Sir
John Lubbock, and Frederic Harrison ; Sonnen-
schein's Best Books (in two volumes); Bald-
THINKma AS A SOIENGE 251
win's The Book Lover; Dr. Eliot's Five Foot
Shelf and Frank Parson's The World's Best
Books, previonsly referred to.
On the art of living— the art of planning time
so as to have room for thinMng, as well as val-
uable hints as to how that thinking is to be car-
ried out — consult Arnold Bennett, How to Live
on Twenty-four Hours a Day, and E. H. Griggs,
The Use of the Margin (both very, very small
books).
I^uially, there is much useful material, as well
as incalculable inspiration, to be obtained from
the intellectual and literary biographies of great
thinkers. Especially is this true of autobiog-
raphy. Among others may be mentioned the
autobiographies of John Stuart Mill and Her-
bert Spencer, and an autobiographical fragment
by Charles Darwin.
THE END
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